The Last of Us: The 102nd Hunger Games
by david12341
Summary: The world has gone quiet. Panem's Escorts, Gamemakers, Stylists, and Mentors are all killed in the blink of an eye. Families and friends die when Victor's Village burns to the ground. 101 Games have come and gone, and now only 5 victors remain, the weight of a broken nation resting on their shoulders. They are the last of us.
1. This is the end

"This is the end"

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**A/N: Welcome to the 102nd Hunger Games, The Last of Us, the final installment in the Role Model SYOT trilogy. For those of you that are new, don't feel intimidated by this being the third story! Anyone is welcome to submit, and I have a summary of the story thus far so you're not lost reading mentor POVs. Even without that, though, with this story having practically zero sub-plot, you should understand things just fine. **

**For those of you that have just finished No Apologies, first of all: sorry. I planned everything out like 3 years ago, and had to go through with it, but god did it hurt. On the bright side I've basically run out of characters to kill so we're good on that end. Also, the amount of bleakness and death in these stories has gotten to be so much I needed to plan out a soft-reset universe where everything is happy instead. And then that spiralled into a story idea, and now once I'm halfway through this story I plan on starting another SYOT that will not be totally bleak and depressing (for more info on that check out my discord, which I have a link to on my profile).**

**Anyways, all that out of the way now, check out my profile for submission info and my mess of a discord server. I'm so excited for this story, and already have received some amazing characters, so keep them coming. Submissions will be open for about 2 weeks I'm thinking, and the blog and confirmed tribute list will be posted with the 3rd prologue. Every character will get a stupid long intro (because I love intros), and then two more pre-games POVs. It's gonna be a fun (ish) ride, so strap in, and enjoy the beginning of the final installment in this trilogy.**

**PS: I'm switching to 3rd person because that's how I've started to write my stories and it just feels more natural for me.**

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_~It hurts to set you free_

_But you'll never follow me_

_The end of laughter and soft lies_

_The end of nights we tried to die_

_This is the end~_

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**Glory Fairfax, 11, District One, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games**

A single house stood among the ashes in Victors Village. A cold breeze ran through the house, snaking through cracked windows and worming its way through the halls. The chill slunk around corners, closing in on its target with precision as it brushed against the back of Glory Fairfax. Prickles ran across the girl's skin, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she shuffled through the halls in her pajamas. Fuzzy fabric rubbed against the carpet as she walked towards the kitchen. The crashing sound still reverberated through her ears. It was a familiar sound for her at this point, cracking bottles and glass littered hardwood becoming more a part of her nightly routine than sleep was.

Her eyes were as cracked as the bottle of whiskey lying on the floor was, red roots splintering across her emerald green eyes that struggled to remain open. The first night she woke to the sound she had been wide awake, shocked and scared and worried. It didn't take too long for her to just become tired.

Glory wouldn't need to even have her eyes open to know what was going on. The scene was a repeat, just as much a constant in her life as her nightmares and her panic attacks that stole away her breath for minutes at a time. She wouldn't ever get used to it, but she could at least expect it.

Hailey Hills sat on the floor, propped up against the fridge and holding the remains of a bottle, glass shards creating a moat around her still body. Dark brown eyes bore into the ground ahead of her, a green beanie tucked firmly over her head so that only a few strands of her brown hair poked out. Across the fourteen-year-old victor's eyes were those same red cracks as Glory's.

Both of them stood still for a long while, neither one of them seeming to realize the other was there. Glory stood, shivering as her body swayed back and forth, but feeling a calming presence that kept her in place. She had been having nightmares anyways, she reckoned with herself.

"Livia's dead," Hailey slurred, hiccuping as she casually tossed the rest of the bottle across the kitchen. Glory flinched as it broke against the floor.

"What happened?" Glory mumbled. She shuffled over to the counter and hopped up onto the chair.

Hailey didn't move. She traced her fingers along the cracks in the wood, her fingers surfing along the pieces of glass as they met them. "Alcohol poisoning," she said. "They found her passed out in her office at the academy."

Glory looked over at Hailey. She saw the wet splotches on her dirtied t-shirt, the pools of foul smelling liquor on the floor, and the peeled back whiskey labels stuck to the counter she sat at. She didn't bother to make the obvious dig.

"That's sad," Glory said, her monotone voice not backing up that statement. She peeled away at one of the labels, flicking it onto the floor as it came stuck to her thumb. There wasn't enough in her to feel pity for the mentor from District Two. Livia wasn't her friend, she wasn't anything close to it. She could only expel so much energy into mourning, and that tank had gone empty long ago.

"Only five of us left now," Hailey murmured. "Lucky us."

Glory didn't try to argue. The first few weeks she had tried to, at least after the shock had worn off, but it didn't take her long to realize she wasn't even convincing herself. They'd been left behind, and nobody was coming for them. Nobody was left to.

"I need a drink," Hailey grunted, glass cracking as she slowly but surely rose to her feet. She began to stumble towards the cabinet.

"We're out," Glory called out meekly, wincing at the word _we_.

"No, I ha-" she hiccuped, "have some vodka left."

"There was an emergency, someone got hurt real bad in the park and needed something to disinfect the wound."

Hailey took a moment to process the information, staring at Glory for a long while before eventually shrugging. "I'll get some more than."

Glory sighed. "It's three in the morning."

"So what?" Hailey slurred, nearly tripping over herself as she stumbled towards the counter. "I'm Hailey _fucking _Hills. I'm a victor, that means I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, doesn't it?"

Glory bit her lip. Maybe it was because of the victory tour coming up, maybe it was the news of Livia's death, or perhaps it was the bloody scene she had witnessed in the park, but she felt herself needing to say something. She knew that Hailey wouldn't listen to a single word she said, that she would continue to spiral her life out of control until five victors became four. But if she didn't stay quiet, then maybe she could at least not add another face to the dozens that already filled her nightmares.

"Why do you have to do this?" Glory asked, her voice rising just above a timid squeak. "You don't ever feel any better when you drink. You just feel worse."

"No, I don't," Hailey said, leaning into the counter. She began to trace the pattern on the table, her eyes dropping away from the accusing, pleading stare of her co-victor. "I feel exactly the same. All it does is make it so I don't feel like I need to hide it. I'm sick and tired of pretending that I'm okay." She suddenly slammed her hand down on the table, pushing herself back, swaying back and forth as she struggled to keep her balance. "A week from now I'll go to District Twelve, and District Five, and I'll smile and wave and thank them all for letting me kill their kids. I'll tell them I'm real thankful for their _sacrifice _and then be on my way, all the way to the Capitol. Then I get to smile and say how _happy _I am to still be alive, and how _glad _I am to be a victor. It's all just fucking bullshit, and I'm sick and tired of it already."

The room seemed to chill, that cold wind permeating the air as the two stood in silence. Hailey's hands were shaking, her heart racing as she took in heavy breaths. Glory was too stunned to say anything at all. It was the most either of them had said since they came back to the Village, after everything had happened. Glory struggled to find the words to say, tried and failed to imagine what someone else would have told her. Melody would have been kind and gentle, Galavant would be harsh but honest, but Glory wasn't sure if she was able to do any of those things.

"You don't have to act around me," Glory said at last, deciding to throw away attempts at mimicking someone else and just speak her truth, whether it was the right thing to say or not. "I feel the same exact way that you do, every single day." Glory's voice began to break up, and so she cut herself off short. "You don't have to pretend."

Hailey was quiet for a long moment. She stuffed her hands into her pockets, and tried her hardest to let in deep breaths of air, anything to calm the nervous energy that raced through her veins.

"We live in a graveyard, Glory," she finally said, her voice somber and low. That anger was gone, replaced by a quiet resignation, a deep and honest and brutal truthfulness. "Melody, Galavant, May, Luxor, your family, they're all buried beneath our feet. I don't know what you're hoping for. Maybe you think there's some light at the end of this, some version of this story where we get a happy ending. And if you see that, good for you. But it isn't happening."

"I never said things are gonna get better," Glory said, her voice shaking as she blinked away tears. "I'm just tired of them always getting worse."

Glory looked across the table, bloodshot eyes fixing onto her as they silently pleaded a cause they knew wouldn't be won. Hailey was wrong, Glory knew how this story would end. But that would never stop her from trying. That blind, hopeless fight was all that she had left.

"There's no point fighting anymore," Hailey said, a bite in her voice as she turned away. "The only reason I'm still here is because I'm not gonna be like _them_. Galavant, my dad, when things got hard, they took the easy way out. I won't do that. Not while there's still one person left in this world I care about."

Glory felt tears pool up in her eyes. Hailey's words stung, but even then she couldn't help but feel the smallest bit of warmth because of it. Glory could never blame Galavant. She hated what he did, and wished so badly that he hadn't, but she couldn't blame him. But hearing from somebody that they cared about her, even if it's in a drunk, depressed stupor at three in the morning, was enough. She would cling to every single thing that she could find, every tiny bit of hope or content, no matter how small or meaningless.

She felt her eyes fall to the floor. A part of her only wanted to crawl back to bed and try to find some sleep before the morning light would wake her up. She held her next words at the tip of her tongue, and thought about swallowing them, and just leaving it be. But even when she knew what the answer would be, even when she knew that hearing that response would take away that tiny bit of happiness she had just found, she had to try. She had to have hope. Even when she knew deep down it was hopeless.

"If you care," she said, the words caught in her throat as she tried to find some non-existent combination of words that could fix everything. "If you care, you wouldn't leave. You wouldn't leave me alone in this awful house, so that even when you're here. . . you aren't. Not really."

Hailey continued to look away. Even as Glory stared at her with pleading, desperate eyes that struggled to stay open, she refused to look back. She was silent as she reached into a drawer, pulled out a sack of coins, and stuffed them into her pocket. Her shoes crushed the glass beneath her feet as she walked towards the exit. As she opened the door, she called back to Glory, and still didn't look back.

"I'm going out. Go get some sleep."

The door slammed shut behind her, and Glory was left alone in the cold house in Victors Village, nothing around her but ashes.


	2. Coffee's for closers

"Coffee's for closers"

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**A/N: Things'll cheer up once we get to Reapings, I promise lol. Until then here's another of our remaining victors. Next chapter is the final prologue, and I'll be posting a full tribute list/blog with the chapter. Submissions will close at 11:59 PM on Friday, so make sure to submit by then!**

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_~We never believe again_

_Kick drum beating in my chest again_

_Oh we will never believe again_

_Preach electric to a microphone stand~_

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**Audra Lee, 17, Victor of the 98th Hunger Games**

The room seemed devoid of oxygen. People passed along, dancing and laughing and smiling, lost in the moment, as if they had forgotten all that had happened. Everybody seemed happy, and Audra hated it. She resented every smiling face and exchange of laughter. She felt suffocated, trapped in a place she never wanted to be.

The Victory Tour had come to District Five. Hailey had stood up on stage, mumbling her words as she gave a half-hearted thanks to Levi and Sigma. Levi's parents stood in tears, Sigma's in stoicism. Both grieved their own ways, but all of them hurt all the same.

Audra hadn't slept the night before, and didn't allow herself the reprieve of coffee. Instead she sat on the stage, with heavy eyes and a numbness that left her unable to show what she truly felt. That was how it would have to be now. There was no room for another broken, teary-eyed victor. She needed to be something greater than that, something that could show people a better way, inspire hope again. That was what she told herself, but every passing day found herself slipping further from that dream. Each lonely night, filled with terrors that didn't cease when she woke with a cold sweat, and each long day that would always feel wasted, no matter how hard she tried to find purpose.

And now there was the after-party. She reckoned with herself she should set a good example. If she were really the person she convinced herself she had to be, then she would do so much more than just sit and brood, fighting tooth and nail just to avoid breaking down. She would meet with Hailey and congratulate her, forgive her for what she had to do in the Games, the children whose lives she took. That was the person Panem needed. But it wasn't the person Audra was able to give. She had pretended for too long, so that only the thinnest veil remained before the full truth was out, and the broken, damaged girl who had emerged from that arena four years ago finally reared her head.

It wasn't like anyone else was doing any better. There wasn't some shining example of a heroic victor, someone to aspire to be, and feel ashamed for not rising to their lofty expectations. Hailey and Glory were just as much a mess as herself, Mira was even worse off and had been for nearly a decade, and Dalton was a prick. Audra was the best of the unwanted bunch, the last one clinging on to even the tiniest shred of hope. Even then that hope wasn't her own, just a construction, a pretension of belief that something better could be on the horizon. A construed faith that she prayed would spread to others who were unaware of just how little hope she really felt.

Audra sighed, leaning into the table as she sloshed her glass of water, watching as the ice cubes made circles around the cup. The new escort for District Five sat next to her. She was young, hardly older than Audra, but decked out with enough makeup to make her look twice her age. Her blonde hair and unnaturally bright blue eyes seemed to shine against her blemish free skin. She wore a strapless red dress that was studded with jewelry on every free inch of fabric. The woman spoke in that typical, posh accent that the Capitolites seemed to have, and Audra couldn't find it in her to actually listen to what the woman was saying.

Someone else managed to catch her attention, though. The man spotted Audra at the same time she laid eyes on him, and immediately began to move towards her. His hair had greyed more than should be possible in the past two years since she had first met him, pronounced wrinkles began to appear on the forehead of his pale skin. He wore a half-hearted smile, dressed for a funeral in his full black attire.

"Hello, Audra," the man said.

"Hi, Jaycen," she replied.

He took a seat opposite the table from her, asking for the rest of the table to excuse them for a moment. They did so hesitantly, Jaycen sitting patiently as he waited until it was only the two of them.

"It's been quite some time, Audra." Jaycen reached into his coat pocket, fiddling with something as he struggled to keep eye contact. "What have you been doing to keep yourself busy?"

"I'm not," she said bluntly.

"Not?"

"Busy," she said. Her voice was robotic, devoid of any sort of emotion. "I sit around and watch television all day. Every month I get sent a dozen books from the Capitol, and those keep me busy for a week until it's back to soap operas and reality television."

"I see," he said, his attention now hardly on Audra at all.

"And what about you, anything exciting?" She asked.

"Nothing too much, no." Jaycen smiled. "We got the rebels who were responsible behind all the attacks, and with that mess now dealt with, things have gotten quiet for the CDA. Being a rebel isn't exactly something supported by your common man at the moment, so all the groups have gone quiet for the time being. Now we just get to. . ." he trailed off, wincing in effort for a moment before popping something into place, a clicking sound barely audible to Audra's ears. Jaycen lifted a small, grey, circular device and placed it onto the table between the two of them. ". . . rebuild."

"What's that?" She asked, her interest ever so slightly lifted by her curiosity.

"Just one of our newest toys, don't mind it. This, however," he said, sliding a similar device across the table, though this one had a blue button on its top. "Is something you should hold on to."

Audra didn't make a move towards the device. She continued to stare at Jaycen, her murky, blue eyes hazily looking at him with expectancy.

"It's just something so that you and I can keep in touch, that's all." Jaycen drummed his fingers along the table impatiently, his pupils making their way around the room.

"Is my telephone not good enough?" Audra asked.

"The Capitol is a very different place than it was a year ago. The attacks left many gaps in Panem's leadership and Games staff, gaps that have not always been filled with those who share the previous governments ideals. Coira and myself are about all that remains of my sister's regime."

"I thought Coira left her job as the interviewer," Audra interrupted. "That's what everyone on all the Capitol shows are saying, anyway."

"She'll come around," Jaycen said, not showing any worry about the likeliness of his statement. "In the meantime, Audra Lee, you have become quite invaluable to many of these new people of power."

This was the first thing that seemed to break past Audra's shell. She dropped her pretension of disinterest, her eyes twinkling with curiosity as she gazed at Jaycen. "Why me?"

Jaycen shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Victors have always held a lot of sway among the populace. Right now, only five victors are still alive, and you're unequivocally the most popular one of them. There's quite a few people who desire the level of control and impact your words and actions can make. There's also a significant group who fear that power. We have an old president, one who remembers all too well the Mockingjay rebellion, and the impact a single victor can make on Panem."

"So then why do you care?" Audra asked, unable to find within her an emotional response to what was just said to her. All it did was add onto that weight she already felt on her shoulders.

"I care because you're more than just a tool in someone else's political game," Jaycen said with bitterness. Audra could see there was something else behind that statement, but she didn't bother to push it any further. "I want you to hold on to that device, and if anything, _anything _at all that I can help you with comes up, you need to call and let me know."

Audra nodded her head. She felt unsure, overwhelmed, and entirely unprepared for the expectations that so many apparently held for her. But still, if those expectations existed, she would have to strive for them. Even if they were hopelessly out of reach, she would stretch out as far as she could, and pull herself further forward.

Jaycen stood up, taking the first device with him as he walked away. Audra sat alone at the table, and wondered about the year that she had ahead of her. Things couldn't stay the same, that much she was sure of. Something would give. Something would break and be left unrepaired. She thought to herself that things will have to get better this year, that this would be where her story turned around. She had reached her rock bottom, but as long as she continued to look up, and see that as distant and blurred as it may be, the sun still shone, there was always hope that she would rise again.

After all, she decided, how can things not get better, when it's impossible for them to get any worse.


	3. Simple Song

"Simple Song"

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**A/N: Keeping this chapter a bit shorter/less dense because it's the last prologue, and because at the end of this chapter I'll have the finalized tribute list, and a link to the blog!**

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_~I know that things can really get rough when you go it alone_

_Don't go thinking you gotta be tough, and bleed like a stone~_

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**Coira Thompson, 33, Hunger Games Interviewer**

The stage was set. In just a few short weeks twenty-four tributes would come on stage and plead their case to Panem for why they deserve to be the sole survivor. Banners with the Capitol seal stamped on them covered the room. Bright lights lit up the stage with a yellow glow, while thousands of seats stretched back countless rows. Coira was used to the stage. She had sat on that grand, pastel chair and overseen the interviews last year. It was by all rights belonging to her. That throne was hers. Yet it still felt to her that by even standing on the same stage as that seat she were trespassing, filling a role that she couldn't ever live up to.

"It's nice to see you, Coira." Jaycen stepped out of the shadows, joining her on the stage.

Coira didn't turn to face her old friend. She only continued to stare into the spotlight. "We both know your intentions by you wanting to meet here of all places, so go ahead and say your piece so we can be done with it."

Jaycen quirked a half-smile. "Panem needs you to do this job. Quitting won't heal anything that's been broken."

"It's not about healing," Coira murmured, turning away from the lights as they brought tears to her eyes. "It's about moving on."

"I get it," Jaycen said. He sighed as he joined Coira's side, the two of them gazing out into the empty crowd. "Apollo's gone. Your dad was a good man, and a fantastic interviewer, but he's gone. His legacy will be passed on to someone else, and they'll be the one to carry it. He won't get to write an end to his own story. You can't change that fact, nobody can. " Jaycen turned to face her, the tiniest shadow of a twinkle in his eye. "But you can decide who will pick up his pen, and finish it."

Coira shook her head. "You don't know what that means, who my father was."

"You're right, I don't." Jaycen moved towards the chairs at the center of the stage, brushing his hand up against the arm of the seat. "Nobody does, in fact, seeing as I burned the file on him, and every person who had ever read it is now dead. Nobody knows anything about Apollo Thompson, who he truly was, except for you."

"You don't understand," Coira said. She turned away from the empty crowd. Her eyes were stained a glassy red as tears pooled up, threatening to spill over at the slightest move.

"I understand that once your father was a young man, living in a nation that was on the brink of collapse, a nation that had nearly burnt itself to ashes in fighting itself. He was a person who saw a bleeding country, and helped it to heal. A person who saw a lonely orphan, and helped _her _to heal."

Jaycen stepped towards Coira, but she avoided his gaze, her eyes falling to the ground. After the Mockingjay Rebellion, when the dust had finally settled, she was only a kid. Six years old and she had lost her parents, and beyond age, Apollo was in most ways just a kid too. He was broken, a person who had lost so much, had made so many awful mistakes, yet kept on pushing forward. He saw her, a girl who had lost everything, and together the two of them helped each other learn to grow past who they were.

Jaycen continued. "My father, you know, he taught us that history will always move towards progress. We've taken a massive step back, and that sometimes happens. Sometimes those steps are more like leaps, which take you all the way back to the beginning. But progress marches on all the same. As long as one good person is left in the world, one person who dares to dream of a world better than the one we have, progress will come."

"Well, then it's good that Panem has you," Coira said, lifting her head to meet Jaycen face-to-face, the tears evaporating as she hardened her features.

"I'm not a good man." Jaycen's voice quaked, and now it was his turn to peel away his eyes and face the reflection painted across the floor. "I've lost my claim to that."

A silence fell over the pair. The only sound that filled the room was the hum of electricity and the whistling of the strong breeze that barraged the outdoors. Coira heard none of it. "I don't know what you expect me to do."

"All that you can," said Jaycen. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

Coira shook her head, absently brushing a hand through her rough, dark brown hair. "You think too highly of me."

Jaycen shrugged, a sad smile forming on his lips. "It's a habit."

He reached into his pocket, and without explanation tossed a small, silver device towards his oldest friend. She caught it in her hand, and didn't need to spare a moment examining it to know what it was.

"Give Connie my love," he said. A red dot lit up on the device, and by the time Coira raised her eyes, Jaycen was already out of the spotlight, hurrying off the stage in the shadow of the large banners that filled the room.

Coira decided not to follow. Instead, she stood in the spotlight for a little while longer, deep brown eyes staring off into an empty crowd. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she swore even now she could hear them, the lost echoes of ghosts ringing through her ears.

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**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who submitted! I've gotten so many amazing submissions, and sadly had to turn down a lot of characters I wish I could have accepted. I ended up getting 30 submissions for only 14 slots, and all of them were brilliant in their own ways. I ended up opening more spots than I originally intended just to get as many in as possible, meaning now the only non-POV tributes will be the D4 pair.**

**I've posted the link to the blog here, as well as on my profile, and would love if you could check it out and let me know what you think (blog reviews are food). Now, without further ado, here is the final tribute list for the 102nd Hunger Games!**

**lastofus102nd . blogspot . com ****(erase the spaces)**

**(PS: make sure to check the full list, I moved a lot of tributes around to second/third choices cause half y'all put D5 as your #1 district lol)**

**District One**

Male: Troy Magnison, 18- david12341

Female: Vivian Ostera, 18- TheEngineeringGames

**District Two**

Male: Talon Olympus, 18 - david12341

Female: Lana Birkhead, 12- david12341

**District Three**

Male: Ty Bale, 16- CelticGames4

Female: Julie Novum, 14- david12341

**District Four**

_Male: Logan Hurt, 18- david12341_

_Female: Aphrodite Silva, 18- david12341_

**District Five**

Male: Nikola Surge, 17- Reader Castellan

Female: River, ~14- david12341

**District Six**

Male: Arnold "Arkus" Smitt, 18- david12341

Female: Earhart Robertson, 15- Goldie031

**District Seven**

Male: Vesa Carlisle, 18- PercyJacksonAlways

Female: Juniper Lourdes, 16- Andii99

**District Eight**

Male: Udon Chang, 16- AlexFalTon

Female: Inesa Hugo, 18- HogwartsDreamer113

**District Nine**

Male: Lane Freeley, 16- Jimster920

Female: Ciera Ocussia, 18- 66samvr

**District Ten**

Male: Jamie Curie, 12- CozenCraze

Female: Persephone Saskia, 16- Merp1Molecule

**District Eleven**

Male: Marquise Clifton, 18- ANTonio-banderas

Female: Bethany Hopper, 16- foxfox12

**District Twelve**

Male: Denver Lyon, 18- david12341

Female: Sparrow Kalani, 12- david12341


	4. D1: Warriors Forged

"Warriors Forged"

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**A/N: POVs in these intros are likely going to be lopsided often times. I've decided to do away with trying to fit a specific word count anymore, because I think that forces me to reveal too little or too much of characters sometimes. For some characters I need to show their whole back story to you, while others I want to leave more mysterious. That being said, characters who have shorter intro chapters will get longer POVs in future chapters. It'll all balance out. I just think this way we can focus on the most important parts of these characters' stories, instead of just skimming over all 22 of them.**

**PS: Idun is pronounced (eye-din)**

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_~Even when the dark comes crashing through_

_When you need a friend to carry you_

_And when you're broken on the ground_

_You will be found~_

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**Troy Magnison, 18**

_10 Years Ago_

It was bedtime. Troy loathed bedtime. He'd much rather be outside into the darkest hours of the night, believing himself to be some fierce warrior in the faraway lands that the woods outside their secluded home were. The flimsy twig he gripped in his hands would be a longsword that he would use to cut down hordes of enemies single-handedly, a hero that defended his family. To him this was more than just pretend play, this was a dream. It was a dream that would sometimes feature just him versus impossible odds, but it would also often be a dream he shared. A world where he and his little sister Idun would fight side by side, an inseparable duo (aside from those times they bickered and refused to be seen anywhere near each other, and swore that they would never, ever forgive the other for whatever trivial thing they had done to annoy each other) that together, were unstoppable.

Sadly for Troy, nowhere in this dream of his could he fit in being forced into his pajamas and tucked away under his covers. Idun had suggested that it was like they were being held prisoner by the wicked jail keepers that their parents were (and with how strict they were, and how seldom they were seen, he thought the description wasn't far off for the two parents), but Troy had just laughed and brushed that suggestion aside. After all, nobody could possibly capture the great Troy Magnison.

Instead, Troy would just lay on his side, and glance out the window by the side of his bed, where the night looked so empty, dark, and lifeless, yet the sky twinkled with life and promises of adventures yet to come.

"Hey, Idun," Troy asked in a soft whisper, knowing that his parents would be furious if he were still awake, and not wanting to wake his sister if she had accomplished what he could not.

"Yeah?" She replied in a soft tone, voice betraying no hints of the sleepiness one would expect out of an elementary schooler who had spent the day play-fighting in the woods.

Troy flipped over, facing his sister. Both of them were dressed in blue, full-body pajamas, and tucked under their blankets. Between the two small beds was empty floor space, littered with twigs and rocks and stained with mud and dirt. Their mom had yelled at them both for that earlier, even when Troy lied and said that it was only him.

"Have you ever thought about going into the Hunger Games?" Troy asked. His parents would be far away in the large, empty house, but he still kept his voice in a hushed whisper all the same.

Idun scrunched up her nose. "No, why?"

Troy picked at his clothes, his pale blue eyes twinkling as they gazed across the great divide. "Just imagine, getting to be a victor, like Galavant. You'd be a hero."

"Wouldn't you be scared?" Idun asked, quickly abandoning her hushed tone.

Troy scoffed. "Of course not," the boy said proudly. "I'm not scared of anything."

"Well, I'd be scared," she replied in a sure voice. She reached towards a stuffed bear that laid on the floor, squeezing tightly onto it.

"You wouldn't need to be, I'd go with you. We'd fight off everybody together." Troy made swooshing noises as he pretended to swing a sword back and forth.

Idun giggled, joining in as she flailed her arm back and forth, being sure to hold onto her stuffed bear the whole time.

"Of course," Troy casually said, suddenly looking more serious. "We'd have to fight each other at the end."

"I'd kick your butt." Idun giggled.

Troy snorted, flopping over onto his opposite side so that he faced the night sky again. "Yeah, right. Little sisters don't beat up big brothers."

"I'm only one year younger!" Idun exclaimed. "It would be easy. I'd be like, _chyoo, chyoo_-" Idun trailed off, making more sound effects as she gave the play-by-play on how she would defeat him.

He wasn't listening much anymore though. From two stories below, Troy made out the faintest echo of a loud cracking sound. Idun seemed to hear it too, her voice dissipating into quietness as the two laid down for a while in silence.

A scream broke the silence, one that both siblings immediately recognized, followed by pounding footsteps and other muffled noises that neither could discern.

Troy flipped around, climbing to his feet just as Idun did the same. No words were needed to communicate, a single look in the eyes saying enough between the two. _Mom just screamed. She might be in trouble._

From there, no more doubt could be had. Idun was the first to move, rushing towards the door, her bare feet stomping across the carpet as she leapt up to pull the door open. Troy thought for a fraction of a moment about stopping her. He was her big brother, and something dangerous might be going on downstairs. He wondered if maybe he should focus on keeping her safe, and let his mom and dad deal with whatever's happening downstairs. Maybe there was a wild animal downstairs, and he was about to let Idun run right into trouble.

But his own curiosity outweighed that thought, and he found himself squeezed next to Idun as the two crept down the stairs, hopping on their tip-toes to avoid making any noise. Troy felt a burst of adrenaline, feeling his dreams coming true. His mind raced with ideas of the dangers that lay below them. His mother and father hiding on a table, while a pack of ravenous dogs lept at their feet. Or maybe the two were viciously fighting a wild bear, and Troy would leap onto its back, tackling it down to the ground. No matter what was down there, him and Idun would face it, together.

The two children turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, and swung out into the living room. What awaited them wasn't dogs or bears or snakes. His parents weren't hiding on top of the table, or fending them off with pots and pans as they dodged around the sofas and footrests.

His mom laid on the carpeted floor, eyes barely open as red liquid oozed out of her forehead. His dad was on his knees, head down in shame. Four men dressed in fancy suits stood across his parents, three of them holding pistols while a fourth held a metal bat. Blood dripped from the handle of one of the guns, leaving red splotches on the vibrant green carpet.

"Mommy!" Idun screamed, that heroic image shattering in an instant. Troy tried to reach out to stop his sister, but she slipped through his grip as she ran towards her mom.

One of the men caught her, effortlessly pulling her into the air by her shirt. Troy saw his father lift his head, and felt his blood go cold at the look of terror that spread across his features.

"Pl-please, just leave them alone, they-"

Another man spat at him. "Be quiet."

The world didn't slow down. There was no dramatic moment where time seemed to freeze in place. Troy didn't watch on in horror, knowing what was happening but unable to stop it. The moment passed by with as much urgency as any other, and Troy didn't realize that his mother had been shot until the bullet had already entered her skull, and the faintest light that was left in her eyes faded away to darkness.

Troy screamed. He wasn't in control of himself as he ran towards the man nearest him, blindly raising his fists as tears pooled up in his eyes. He didn't, couldn't understand what was going on, not really. But the devastation in his father's eyes, the high-pitched squealing that came from Idun as she struggled to get free, the empty look in his mother's eyes, all of it pooled together. Troy felt a simmering, overwhelming feeling rise from inside of him that he couldn't comprehend and couldn't control. All he wanted was to just scream, and hit something.

The man didn't give him the chance. He flicked the bat effortlessly as Troy ran towards him, and the boy barely saw the flash of metal before he felt a dull pain in his head. That moment was just as brief, however, and before long that feeling faded to nothing, just as much as everything else.

~.~.~.~.~

Before he could peel open his eyes, before the searing pain in his head flared up, or he tasted the blood that pooled up in his mouth, Troy smelled smoke. He jolted to a start, violently coughing as he stumbled to his feet. He was dizzy, the world spinning and dipping up and down, all while a constant pain pounded against his skull. If he had eaten anything he would have thrown it up, but as it stood he keeled over and heaved, barely avoiding falling forward as he did so.

Troy managed to stay on his feet though. He blinked back tears from his eyes, continuing to cough as his vision began to stabilize. All around him the world was illuminated in a red haze. Fire crackled throughout the house, in the kitchen, in the study, and from up the stairs. The only room it hadn't fed into yet was the living room that he stood in, alone.

"Idun!" Troy screamed, though his voice came out in a raspy whisper, so hoarse that he could barely hear himself.

Blood stained the carpet, more than had been there before, but his mom, his dad, Idun, all of them were gone. Troy tried to think. He tried to figure out where they could be, what happened, what was happening now, why one moment he was with his family and the next he was alone. The more he tried to focus on any of these thoughts, the farther away they seemed to drift. He couldn't organize his thoughts at all, and so he all he could do was follow his most raw instinct he felt.

Troy ran towards the door. It was cracked open ever so slightly, and be barreled through it, stumbling down the handful of stone stone steps before falling to the ground, collapsing into the grass. He hacked and wheezed, desperately breathing in the fresh air, letting it fill his lungs. He brought his hand up to his head, and when he brought it down, saw blood dripping from his fingers.

He looked up at his home, and watched as it burned. Pillars of smoke rose from the roof, snaking off into the sky. Troy looked around him, and noticed that he was alone. He had just enough sense left in him to put together what that meant.

There was no hesitation as Troy ran back through the doorway, and into the home. The fire had spread now, half of the living room on fire, and the smoke piling up so that the air turned black in all but the lowest corners of the house. Both staircases were still in tact as well, and Troy made his way to the nearer of the pair, keeping low to the floor as he felt his way up the stairs.

"Idun!" He tried to scream again, though again his voice was charred, barely rising above a hoarse whisper.

His foot searched blindly for the next step, and it missed its target. Troy felt himself falling, stumbling down the stairs and crashing onto the landing just next to the front door. All his energy sapped from him, and he felt himself slipping back into darkness, smoke clogging up his lungs as air was refused entry.

Troy felt an arm on his shoulder, and he thrashed out his limbs. He felt hope rise in him, expecting to turn around and see his mother or his father there to rescue him, or Idun there to help him stumble out the door to safety.

When he was spun around, he wasn't met with the familiar sight he had been hoping for. White, armored arms reached out for him, lifting him into the air and stomping towards the exit. He opened his mouth, wanting to yell at the Peacekeeper, to tell them to go back, to find Idun, but all that came from him was another cough.

As they stepped through the door, Troy caught one last glimpse of his home, the green carpet, velvet sofas, and low-hanging chandeliers that he and Idun would swing across. His eyes slid closed, and in another moment that vivid image was just a blurry memory of which he could only trace the faintest of outlines.

~.~.~.~.~

When he came to again, he wasn't alone. Peacekeepers scoured the flat plains, sifting through rubble and chatting with one another while hoses blasted the last remaining embers with an onslaught of water.

Troy started to his feet, throwing off the fuzzy, green blanket that covered him, nearly tripping him as he started towards what remained of his home. He hardly got two steps before a Peacekeeper held out a hand, holding him in place.

"Easy, buddy," the faceless man said in a soothing voice. "Just take it easy."

"Where's Idun?" He asked frantically. His hands felt their way up, where they patted against a thick gauze pad that covered his forehead. "Wh-what happened. Wh-why can't I? I can't, I-"

The man crouched down beside the boy, and held out a book to him. The boy looked through him, refusing to look down at what the man extended. Panic flared from within him. His thoughts were a mess, a flurry of pictures and words that he couldn't hone in and focus. Even his memories failed him, only the most distant and hazy of pictures in his mind of what had happened. He remembered hearing his mom scream, going downstairs with Idun, he remembered waking up alone, and he remembered the smell of smoke.

He looked down at the book that the man extended, and then looked up at the black visor that the Peacekeeper wore. No words came from Troy, but his eyes told everything that he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry kid, it took us a while to get here. The whole place burned down, nothing is left." The man looked down at the book. "Except for this. I'd call it a miracle if I believed in 'em, thing was sitting in the middle of the bookroom, surrounded by fire, dozens of torched books lying all around it, but this thing didn't have a scratch on it."

For the first time Troy looked at the book, taking it from the man, gently tracing his thumbs across the cover, as if applying too much pressure would cause the whole thing to turn to ashes. He recognized it. It was a book that his father had loved to read to Idun and him on those rare nights his father was home. They were stories of gods and tricksters, epic battles and dire prophecies. It was Idun's favorite book.

Troy looked up at the man one last time. He felt his heart pounding against his chest, up into his clogged throat. Every breath strained his throat, but he had to ask. He felt an indescribable pain in his chest, as if every pulsing beat of the heart were crashing against his rib cages, cracking them and sending splinters up against the inside of his skin.

"Idun?" Was all he could muster, and he hacked away into his sleeve as he did so, sending tears and snot sliding down his face that he haphazardly wiped away with his shirt.

There was no face to read for a reaction, just a blank, emotionless mask. Yet still, just staring at the man, Troy knew.

The man didn't have the heart to confirm it.

"The people responsible for this, they won't hurt anyone ever again," was all he could muster. "It was the craziest thing, bolt of lightning struck their vehicle just down the road." He looked up in the sky. "Not even a stormy night."

Just enough of Troy's brain was still functioning to click together the pieces in front of him. His hands were a flurry as they shakily paged through the book, flipping until he found the page he was looking for. The page that Idun loved the most, and would always demand that their father must re-read, again and again until she could recite the whole story from heart.

The story of the most brave god of them all, the greatest and most fierce warrior. One who would always protect others, and never let a single villain escape to hurt anyone again. Troy felt his hand brush against the page, and felt a sense of awe as he stared up into the sky, above the rubble and smoke, beyond the dark and starry night, far past all that he could see.

He held up the book so that he could look at it without peeling his eyes away from that vision, all the words too small for him to make out except for the big, bolded letters that headed the page.

_Thor Odinson: God of Thunder_

**Vivian Ostera, 18**

_1 Year ago_

It was the first snow of the season. Vivian had finally been discharged from the hospital, and just in time to witness the white flakes of snow as they blew through the air in a flurry. They had always felt a sort of peace, watching the world get fitted with a colorless coating. Vivian and their dad would go to visit their aunts, and those days were some of the most cherished ones they could remember. Despite the cold temperatures, and raging blizzard outside, there was a comfortable warmth in those memories.

Vivian didn't feel warm now. They sat by the window, pale hands slowly rubbing against each other, while hazel eyes slowly drifted across the landscape. Snow began to stick to the ground, creating a powdered floor on top of the sidewalks. A few families were outside, and they smiled and laughed as they threw snowballs and made snow angels.

Within the glass, Vivian could see the shadowy outline of a reflection. In it they could see their narrowed, tired eyes. Above their left eye, their finger traced against the soft scar that had been etched into their eyebrow.

Their hand suddenly dropped down, lightly brushing up against their cheek as they pressed their forehead against the window. The glass was cool to the touch, and sent shivers throughout their body as their eyes slid shut.

They were done seeing the outside world. The flakes of snow, the happy families, the lack of care for anything else in the world; they saw it all through the foggy glass and couldn't latch on to those feelings anymore.

Over and over again, people had warned them. Their dad, their friends, and their aunts all had the same things to say. All of them could see what they refused to. They had worn their heart on their sleeve, and he had sliced it to ribbons. The scars they wore now would never heal. Whenever they could begin to hope again, they would look into a reflection and see those reminders that evil exists in this world.

Vivian's eyes opened at the sound of footsteps. They hated the primal fear that they felt, that creeping panic they felt whenever they were alone. This place was supposed to be safe for them, but that fear still followed, never leaving them. It had been two months since that night, but that pain hadn't dulled. They still felt that sharp pain that took away their breath, left them completely helpless, unable to fight back. Not able to protect themself.

Their aunt Lisbet wordlessly sat down next to them. She forced a mug of hot chocolate into their hands and sat in silence for a while. Vivian nursed their drink, not finding any joy in the taste but clinging to that heat that warmed their hands.

After their dad, Lisbet had been the first one Vivian had seen in the hospital. The first thing that she had said was 'I told you so.' She hugged them and said how glad she was that Viv was still alive too, but it was those four words that they had needed to hear. All their life they had refused to see the bad in anybody, and finally they saw the consequences of living that way.

"Do you remember last winter's first snow?" Lisbet said, her eyes focused on the blizzard outside.

Vivian managed a smile. "Not much of it."

Lisbet chuckled. "Probably for the best. You acted a fool the whole day. You and liquor don't seem to agree."

Vivian didn't find anything to say in response. That day seemed so long ago. It was as if the last two months were all that her life had become.

"You were so happy that day," Lisbet spoke softly. "I've missed my Viv."

Vivian set down their mug. They felt their hands brushing up and down their arms, tracing over the scars that they tried so hard to hide. "I'm sorry. I'm just, I, I'm—" Their voice faltered. Tears forced their way into Vivian's speech as they pushed their words out. "I don't feel like me anymore."

Lisbet set down her mug, patting Vivian's knee as she looked at them with tired eyes. "You're still you. That's one thing that nobody can take from you."

"I just want to feel normal again. I don't want to feel like this anymore. Every single day, I feel exactly the same. I'm scared." Vivian's voice squeaked, ugly tears beginning to stream down their face as two months of bottled up emotions began to burst. "And I hate it. I'm so tired of feeling helpless."

"I wish that I could tell you everything is going to be okay." Lisbet pursed her lips, looking at Vivian for a long while, stuck in thought. "You're a fighter Viv. Just keep on fighting, okay?"

Vivian wanted to ask what there was to fight for. They wanted to ask how they could keep on blindly boxing, fighting for something they couldn't see. Their whole life, everything they believed, all their quirks and eccentricities, all of it seemed to die that die, even if they were lucky enough to have their heart continue to beat. That feeling of helplessness still stuck with them, and it was all they could focus on. Vivian never wanted to feel that lack of power again.

Things suddenly seemed to click into place. Vivian's expression went blank as they looked their aunt in the eyes, a fire burning from within Vivian for the first time in the past two months. As the snow continued to barrage outside, they felt a resolution building within them. That they would never be helpless again. That the next time someone would try to take their life, they wouldn't have to scream for help. They wouldn't freeze up.

Next time, they'd be more than just ready to fight back.

Lisbet, unaware of the torrent of emotions swelling within Vivian, clasped their hand in hers. "You'll find something out of this, because that's who you are. Everything happens for a reason."

~.~.~.~.~

_11 Months later_

_Everything happens for a reason. _

They were proof of that. One year ago, they were a nobody at the academy. They were the person who would never stand a chance at being selected. Too nice, too trusting, not strong enough, not motivated enough, those were the things they were told over and over again.

Now they were here. The end of the Tournament of Champions, where once there were sixty-four, now only the top four trainees remained. Now, they duked it out for the right to be one of two people to get the chance to extend District One's winning streak to four years. For honor, glory, wealth, fame, or whatever other reason one could convince themselves of, all of it was within reaching distance.

All they had to do was win one fight, and they would win the right to volunteer. Vivian wasn't even sure anymore why they wanted that. Maybe at one point there was some sort of initial reasoning, a core argument they made to themself on how volunteering was the only way out of the hole they had become trapped in. As it stood, training was all that Vivian knew how to do anymore. It was the only thing keeping them functioning, pushing forward through all their pain and insecurities.

Training kept them going. Without it there was nothing, just that empty pit they had fallen into after the attack. If they stopped now, so close to reaching that final goal, what would the point of it all have been? The Games didn't excite Vivian. They didn't care about honor and glory, riches and stardom. It was just the next step, another way to keep them motivated. One more distraction, something to devote themself so wholly to that the rest of the world, all of the bad, just faded away.

Now, that goal wasn't only in their hands anymore. They had reached the final four of the tournament, which meant that they were now being separated into pairs. The head trainers put them into combinations that they felt made them the strongest possible united duo, putting together trainees who would hide each other's weaknesses, show off their strengths, and most importantly avoid killing each other in the arena.

Vivian knew how other people viewed them. They knew the type of person that the trainers thought they were. The quiet, focused archer who seemed to fade into the background. The one that nobody expected to even make it past the first round of the tournament. They didn't even bother hiding their surprise when they saw Vivian reach the final four.

So when Troy Magnison's name was called off with theirs, they already had a good idea of what they'd be dealing with. The man cheered out as his name was called, and that cheer was echoed by a large section of the crowd, all the other kids from the boarding academy celebrating their last remaining champion.

Vivian didn't know what to make of the man. It was almost hard to believe he was only eighteen, but the way he acted as he childishly celebrated with his friends, loudly hollering and pumping his fists, made it more clear. They had seen him fighting earlier, and Vivian couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated, as much as they despised that feeling.

Vivian was already prepared for the typical brutish, Career mentality, which they knew they would be paired with since the beginning of the tournament. Some amoral, cocky douchebag to bring more ferocity, because everyone thought that Vivian was just some pushover. Whatever, they thought, let them think what they think. Vivian would show them..

Troy finally made his way over to their corner of the small battling arena, and they were given two minutes to prepare their weapons- all of which had dulled edges, but still hurt like hell to get hit by- and strategize. Vivian gripped onto their bow, counting out their arrows and slinging the quiver over their shoulder.

"Greetings!" Troy said, or more so shouted, really, his hands still empty. He stood with his hands on his hips, watching over the crowd, a bloated smile across his lips.

Vivian stared through the man, discreetly pocketing a dagger. "Hey."

"A pleasure to meet you, Vivian Ostera!" His enthusiastic, booming voice not dropping a single decibel. He extended his beefy hand towards them.

Vivian ignored the handshake. They continued to stare through him, and for a moment semi-seriously second guessed going into the Games.

Troy dropped his hand, looking humbled as he dropped his volume, though his enthusiasm remained fully in tact. "My apologies, we are not properly acquainted yet. I look forward to getting that chance in the future."

Vivian slowly nodded their head, now just feeling even more unsure. He was loud, and arrogant, sure, but there was something else there that they hadn't expected. Sincerity. Vivian wasn't sure if they were willing to trust that anyone could truly be sincere anymore, but something about the man just radiated off this electric energy. They decided it was best to just not think about it. After all, there isn't much point in getting to know a partner who has to die if you want to win.

"Are you going to get a weapon, then?" They asked.

Troy took in a deep breath, stretching back his arms. "No."

Vivian couldn't think of anything to say to that. They were dumbfounded, and the look on their face must have done enough to portray that because Troy quickly began to explain himself.

"This is not a true fight. These are not warriors, they are children. I owe it to them to make it a fair fight!" He shouted, lifting his arms in the air. The boarding academy kids broke into rowdy applause, Troy flexing his muscles while the rest of the audience looked just as horrifyingly confused as Vivian felt.

There was no time to continue doubting it, though. After a whole year of total dedication, unmatched motivation, it all came down to this. This was Vivian's chance to prove themself, to give them a chance to get better. A chance to heal.

A boy and a girl stood ready in the center of the arena as they made their way to the middle, keeping a comfortable distance behind Troy as he assuredly stalked forward. Their fingers tugged on the string of their bow, while their other hand traced the outline of the dagger they held in their pocket.

The boy was about Vivian's height, and held a sword, while the girl was a bit taller and lugged a battle-axe. Vivian recognized both of them from training. Vivian knew they were better than both of them, and they knew that nobody in this entire place believed that. Troy could do whatever he wanted, if he got himself taken out in the first second, so be it. Vivian had worked too hard for this to lose now, they would take both of them down if they needed to.

The bell rang, and the other duo leapt into action. The boy dashed towards Vivian, zig-zagging to avoid the arrow shot he knew would be coming. Vivian held the arrow in the string, slowly backpedaling as they waited for the perfect moment to strike.

Meanwhile, the girl stepped towards Troy, who casually accepted the challenge, looking unworried as he moved towards her. She brought the axe above her head and swung down, the air seeming to tear apart from the sheer force of her strength.

Troy caught the axe in mid air, gripping onto it by the edge of the handle just below the blade. He ripped it from her hands, and tossed it to the side, the metal clanging against the floor. The sound was just enough of a distraction to divert the boy's attention, and Vivian took the advantage.

The arrow released from their bow, the flattened, soft edge harmlessly bouncing off of his chest. Kill shot. But the boy didn't stop moving.

He continued to barrel towards them, and for a moment Vivian froze. They waited for someone to jump in, to keep him from getting any closer. They won. They beat him. But nobody came.

They were still frozen as he collided with them, knocking Vivian to the ground. He gripped his sword, and attempted to bring it down. Vivian had just enough sense, barely enough training to bring up their hands, gripping onto his wrist as they attempted to keep him from bringing it down onto their chest.

Flashes went off in their head. They felt that sharp pain again, metal piercing their skin, sinking into their stomach, slashing their arms, cutting their face and just barely missing their eye. That helpless feeling was there too, and Vivian could feel it sinking in as the sword inched closer and closer to them.

The dulled point of the blade was just inches from their chest, and that helpless feeling boiled over, reaching its tipping point. Because Vivian wasn't helpless. They fought him off that night, and they survived. They were a fighter, through and through, and nobody would ever take that from them again.

Vivian lashed out with a kick, and the boy let out a sharp breath of air, his face going pale as he reached towards his crotch. Vivian reached into their pocket, using their legs to roll him off of them and switching positions. The boy barely had enough time to notice what was happening by the time they whacked him in the head with the dull knife. They should have just held it at his throat, given him a chance to surrender, but Vivian's blood was boiling, adrenaline pumping through them, and their actions came without thought.

The boy kicked his way away from them, letting out a torrent of curse words as the judge called him out, a large bruise and a small trickle of blood coming from his forehead. They sat on their knees on the ground, heavy breaths as they soaked in the moment. They had won. There was no need to call for help, nobody had to bail them out. They did this. Them and nobody else.

They looked up to see Troy standing above them. He didn't wear that cocky smile though, and didn't look to jump into celebration. He looked worried as he stared down at Vivian, and he knelt down, offering up his hand again.

Vivian looked at his hand, and then up to his face, his pale blue eyes wide with a childlike hope and excitement, even as he did his best to maintain his composure. They couldn't figure out why he wasn't leaping up and down, celebrating with the rest of his friends who cheered loudly for him. They couldn't figure out why he stood above them, offering a hand up. After all that happened before, they couldn't trust him. They couldn't trust his easy smile, his hopeful eyes, or anything else about him. They wouldn't be deceived, not again.

And so Vivian surprised even themself when they took his hand in their own, lifting up to their feet and standing by his side, as his smile grew into a full on grin. They felt a hint of a smile tugging at their own lips, overlooking the crowd now.

They still didn't feel whole. It wasn't some instantaneous burst of confidence, where all that had happened before was forgotten. The world wasn't suddenly illuminated, all the darkness and sorrow wisped away like hot breath on a cool winter day. They weren't magically cured of every illness. But it was a start. The beginning of a promise they had made to themself, the start of a journey that they didn't even know the end to.

The head trainer took the microphone, his voice barely cutting above the deafening cheering that echoed through the arena. "I am proud to announce the best that our district has to offer, the chosen volunteers and representatives of District One!" Vivian looked down, and saw that their hand was still interlocked with Troy's. They looked up at Troy, his attention now fully on his friends as he let out a triumphant roar. Vivian peeled their hand away from his, taking a step away from him, but still unable to hide the smile that spread across their lips.

"Troy Magnison and Vivian Ostera!"

* * *

**A/N: Hope that you enjoyed our first intro! Thank you to Lauren for submitting Vivian (like, 3 years ago lol), I hope I did them justice! For clarifications sake, Vivian is gender fluid, having neutral and feminine days, and uses they/them or she/her pronouns.**

**I purposefully left a lot of things unanswered and unrevealed about these two, showing lots of Troy's past but not much of his present, and vice versa for Vivian, but we'll be spending plenty of time with these two in the future to answer those questions.**

**So the way sponsoring works is you get 1 point for every review of any of my SYOTs, as well as getting more points for answering trivia questions. Bonus points for special reviews (liveblogging, blog reviews, etc) as well. This is the first SYOT where even after receiving all of my characters I'm mostly kind of clueless about what's going to happen in the arena, so I plan on sponsoring being a much bigger deal in this story. I will say that I also have some plans to make sponsoring more "realistic" in this story, so there won't be a flat cost for every single item you want to purchase for a tribute. But more on that when the Games get closer.**

**Trivia(1 point): Aside from the district your tribute is in, what district are you most looking forward to seeing?**

**See you all next chapter with the District Three intros!**


	5. D3: Such Great Heights

"Such Great Heights"

* * *

**A/N: So in planning for the pre-games in the Capitol, everyone is going to be getting 2 POVs, however while planning this out I realized Ty really needed 3 POVs in order to do everything I wanted to with him. So to make up for that Ty will only be getting 1 POV here, but it's a pretty long one, so the length discrepancy still isn't that long between our two characters here. Just wanted to let that be known beforehand though so y'all understand the POV difference.**

* * *

_~They will see us waving from such great heights_

_Come down now, they'll say_

_But everything looks perfect from far away_

_Come down now but we'll stay~_

* * *

**Julie Novum, 14  
**_14 Months ago_

Julie balanced herself on the heels of her feet. To either side of her, just a few inches away, the thin wall gave way to an empty free fall. Lucy, Steel, and Willoughby waited just behind her, standing on the flat, wider portion of the wall while Julie made the trek across the narrow concrete. Just in front of her was a taller platform, leading to the open, empty rooftop of the abandoned high school. All that she had to do was make the leap.

The ledge of the rooftop was slightly above her head at its lowest spot, with that spot being just far enough to the right that Julie couldn't reach for it without leaping off of the ledge she stood on now. She would have to jump, hang onto the ledge, dangle, and pull herself up. If anywhere on that list of items she failed, she would find herself briefly falling before colliding against a cement floor riddled with broken glass and rusty nails. If she were lucky it would result in a half dozen broken bones, but Julie didn't believe in luck.

Fear flooded her system. She allowed herself to stand for a long moment, indulging in every worried thought. All that primal, systematic fear pumped through her blood, bring adrenaline with it, surging an uncontainable energy into her. Julie had rarely been more scared of dying in her life, the possibility petrifying her as she stared at the slick ledge. And she loved every moment of it.

Julie dug her feet into the edge, and leapt. For a moment she was free, flying through the air, ignoring the laws of gravity and seeming as if she would hang in flight forever. Then she began to fall. Julie stretched out her hands, her fingers digging into the cement as she clutched onto the ledge. Her feet dangled helplessly, and so began the second part of the operation.

Her feet swung back and forth, rocking from one direction to the next. As she reached her vertex, Julie aimed her feet outward, and released her grip. She landed on an old air-condition unit that found itself attached to the outer-wall, and Julie felt another burst of adrenaline shock her systems as the machine buckled under her weight.

Breath exited Julie's lungs as she waited in perfect stillness, half-expecting the machine to break apart and send her tumbling down to the ground. But it held up, and Julie allowed herself a moment to breathe. Only one moment.

The rooftop was lower down at this point, and Julie only had to leap up in the air, catch herself on the ledge with her elbows, and pull herself up. She rolled over the ledge, landing on the rocky floor below with a crash, scraping up her palms, but paying no mind to it. She made it.

Julie hustled over to the other side of the roof, hopping over the small ledges as she went to check in on her friends. She wasn't particularly surprised to see all of them still waiting around in the same spot she had left them in.

"Oh, you're alive," Steel called out, waving to her from down below. "Cool."

Julie brushed back the hair that constantly fought to block out her deep brown doe-eyes. "Never felt more alive, sweetheart," she teased, lifting her arms in the air as the wind rushed against her baggy clothes, flapping fabric and hair in all directions.

If she noticed the way Steel blushed and quieted at her words, she showed no signs of it. Lucy pushed her way through the two older boys, the younger girl marching her way across the narrow ledge without a shadow of worry.

While Willougby and Steel were always a welcome part of her crew (they were, after all, two of the only people in the entire district who seemed capable of keeping up, and putting up, with her), Lucy was the only person Julie wouldn't hesitate to call 'friend.' The girl was her protégé, sharing all the traits with her that everyone else wrote off as crazy, silly, stupid, and immature.

Julie bent over the ledge and reached out with her hand. Lucy didn't even blink as she leapt into the air, barely grappling onto Julie's wrist as she hung on for her life. It took all of her strength, but Julie was able to lug the girl up, the two tangling together as they collapsed onto the rocky rooftop floor.

Steel called out to ask if they were okay, and heard only loud cackling in return. He let out a sigh, and turned to Willoughby, who just shrugged in exasperation.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that," Willoughby said.

Julie poked her head up above the ledge, brushing back the dirty blonde hair out of her dirt-covered face. She wore a cheeky grin, her shoulders peeking above the ledge as she shrugged. "There's a ladder up on the other side," she said. Her smile widened at the way that Willoughby squirmed at the words, while Steel hardly looked surprised.

"Be up in a few minutes," he murmured tiredly, hopping down from the ledge and making his way back to the ground. Willoughby grumbled to himself as he followed, and Julie found herself back on the ground laughing just as Lucy collected herself enough to climb to her feet.

"So, no ladder, right?" Lucy asked.

Julie wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter slowly cutting off as she hopped up off of the floor. "Why would there be a _ladder _up to the top of some abandoned rooftop, in the middle of a sector that nobody has lived in for, like, twenty-five years?"

"You're diabolical, you know that?" Lucy chuckled, leading the way as she marched ahead.

"I don't know what that means, so I'll take it as a compliment."

"You're cute when you pretend to be stupid," the younger girl said with an eye-roll.

Julie stopped walking for a moment, tilting her head as she stared blankly ahead. "I wasn't—" she stopped herself, pausing for a moment before she shook her head, and hurried to catch up with her friend.

The two made it to the edge of the school's rooftop at the same time, both of them lifting their heads above the final ledge together. The sight was almost enough to cause Julie to lose her grip, and drop back down the few inches to the ground. She held on just tight enough to pull herself the rest of the way up, barely watching her steps as she walked towards the view that was now fully in front of her.

Lucy stuck out her hand in front of Julie, rocks getting kicked as her feet skidded to a stop, the pebbles tumbling off the roof and down a hundred or so feet to the scorched, broken up earth below it. The remnants of the past rebellion left the sector in total destruction, the school barely standing as the rest of the world around it seemed to get reclaimed into the earth. Where it stood, they hung far above the rest of the district, settled near the very edge so that the whole of District Three was in front of them. Julie's toes wiggled in the free, open air just past the ledge.

The two girls sat down. In all directions the massive city stretched onwards, towering skyscrapers and maze-like housing districts all blending together into a mass of metal and rust. Even the newly renovated University Sector, filled with shiny new buildings and fresh, unpolluted air, still looked the same. Just a few silver dots in the middle of a smoggy playground, walled in just like the rest of the district. Even from up high the walls were towering. They were remnants from long ago, even before the Dark Days themselves, older than Panem some said. They boxed in the District, but from this single, tall vantage point, Julie could see beyond them.

Beyond the distant, dull grey walls that kept her caged in this world, was a whole new world beyond it. Luscious, dense green forests to her left were filled with trees that towered just as tall as the skyscrapers, their canopies blocking off what laid within it. Ahead of her she could see a barren desert, sandy hills rising into the air on the horizon. To her right was ocean, clear, blue water, unlike the murky ponds and creeks that sat in the gardens and parks of her sector, water that stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. Behind her the fourth side of the wall blocked off her view, and her mind ran wild imagining what other, unknown world lied beyond it.

"I never realized how big it was," Lucy said breathlessly, breaking the awe-filled silence.

Julie's eyes were wide as they traced along the landscapes beyond the district, past what Lucy saw. "What do you think is out there?" She asked, her body tipping forward, stretching out to be nearer the world that seemed so close from up above.

Lucy broke out of her trance, looking over to her friend with an oblivious look. "We already know that. Wild animals and toxic wasteland. You'd be torn to shreds out there in a few hours flat."

"Maybe," Julie said, but she didn't believe it. "But it'd be worth it, still, wouldn't it?"

Lucy snorted. "Uh, no? It's just some trees and sand and water, we have all of that here. Read a book if you really want a bit more."

"It's not about the _stuff_," Julie said through a sigh. "It's about, well, when was the last time you think someone walked in those woods? Or sailed in that water? It would have to be before the Dark Days, and back then this must've been a totally different place." Julie finally was able to peel her eyes from the landscape ahead of her, the images seeming to imprint on her eyes as they shimmered with future promises. "Nobody has ever seen it for themselves."

"Well, whenever you wanna try to hop the wall and go bouncing around in the woods let me know, but I'll have to pass on that." Lucy stood up, having seen enough to warrant the trip up. For her it always was more about the journey than the destination anyhow. "You coming?"

Julie stole one more view of the three worlds that she saw before her. "Yeah," she said. "I'm coming."

**Ty Bale, 16  
**_One Day Ago_

Everything was perfectly in place. His clothes were without wrinkle, every piece of hair placed in its exactly planned spot, nails trimmed neatly, face cleanly shaven, any blemishes stricken from his shimmering skin under the cover of a light layer of make-up. He stared at himself in the mirror, double, triple, and quadruple checking every aspect of his person. It all needed to be flawless. It always needed to be flawless.

As he checked himself over, he wasn't sure whether he had reached that level, but he had no more time to fix anything. His day was just beginning, one more day on his path to fame. Every aspect of the day was planned out in his mind, down to the moment. He had finished with his morning routine, and now he had to go to his first gig for the day, a small family restaurant nearby.

He was glad there was no time to check in on his family before he left. Ike was at university anyways, and with how early Ty had risen his parents were most likely still asleep. He left their average home just as the sun was rising high enough to allow the light to peak above the walls. From there it was a short walk to the restaurant. He spotted Flint leaving just as he was entering.

"T-Bale!" The short, stocky boy shouted out. The two nonchalantly exchanged a complicated handshake while Ty looked over his friend. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with a red and black checkered over-shirt, and some dark blue jeans. Not up to par with Ty's standards, but decent enough that it wouldn't require a change.

"What's up, Flint," Ty said, though he tuned out any response immediately. He didn't have time to stick around and chat. This was his first gig at this particular restaurant, and Ty needed to make sure they saw him for who he was. It might all be nothing, but he had heard rumors that Capitol filmmakers would shoot here sometimes, and if that were true Ty needed to be there the next time they came around. All he needed was a chance, from there the rest of it was all easy money.

Flint finished talking, and Ty cracked a quick joke before the two parted ways. He didn't get the last word, though, Flint calling back to him just before Ty walked through the front doors.

"I gotta go to the school for a meeting with Principal Stine, see you later if you're hanging 'round the gym."

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Ty called back lamely, keeping up a confident smirk up until he was sure Flint wasn't looking back any more. He pressed his arm up against the door, giving himself a moment to recollect his thoughts before walking in

_The withdrawal forms were on the Principal Stine's desk. Ty stood across from the seated man, who was looking between the forms and the student with visible confusion._

"_I'm sixteen, so I don't need parent permission," Ty explained. "I can withdraw for any reason."_

"_I'm aware," the principal replied slowly. He picked up the papers, flipping through them. "I just wouldn't have expected it from you, Mr. Bale."_

"_There's no point wasting my time here anymore. I got bigger places to be." Ty shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for the affirmation that he could leave this room and school, and move on with his life._

"_And these bigger places?"_

_Ty shrugged. "Movies, music, performing, I don't know. I'm not gonna make it if I spend the rest of my life sitting in a classroom learning about numbers and books and dead people."_

"_That's a shame," the principal said, setting down the papers. "You've been a great student."_

"_There's plenty of great students, I'm better than that." Ty said, with an air of confidence_

_Principal Stine paused for a moment, looking Ty in the eyes as the boy squirmed under the scrutiny. Finally, he sighed, talking off his glasses and setting them on the table. "I know that your brother—"_

"_My brother doesn't matter!" Ty interjected. He held up his hands as he let in a deep breath, putting the cool, calm demeanor back over himself. "Thanks for everything Mr. Stine, but I've got bigger places to be."_

"_Of course," he said in a shallow voice as he lightly nodded his head. "I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors."_

Ty let out his breath, pushing everything aside as he stepped into the restaurant. The place was bustling with life. With the Reapings tomorrow, most kids didn't bother with school and opted to skip instead. After all, why spend your last day alive sitting in desks? Ty didn't apply that logic to his work. If he took a day off, or skipped a gig, then he could miss something. That single job could have been the one that propelled him to stardom, and he wouldn't miss that for anything.

It didn't take long for him to find the owner who had booked him. The old man quickly explained what he wanted Ty to do, and it was all simple enough. Go around the room and provide entertainment, particularly to the groups of young children and families that were nervous about the upcoming Reaping.

He did his job, and found himself falling into a comfortable rhythm as he did so. For all his worries, there was something so simple and calming about his work that brought the whispers in his head to silence. His hands had gotten enough practice to move by themselves as they tied the balloons into all sorts of different requested shapes. Most of the kids asked for some sort of exotic animal that they had only seen on television from old Games reruns, and Ty obliged, cracking jokes in order to shine more praise on himself.

The day went without misstep, and Ty earned himself a decent amount of tips, but found much more sustenance from the numerous compliments he had gotten. He knew this had to be proof he was capable of more. If he could make so many people laugh, and get so much attention, just by making some balloon animals in a restaurant, then there was no telling what he could do with a larger platform. He just had to find himself in the right place at the right time. He knew that if he could just be given one chance, that he would shine.

"Hey, balloon boy!" A girl shouted out towards him just as he finished handing a balloon lion to a young boy.

Ty forced himself to keep up a smile as he turned to the group of kids a couple years younger than himself. "Name's Ty. Ty Bale," he said casually.

"Right," the girl said. "Ty, anyways—"

"Wait," another girl chirped in, with pink hair and a black hand splint covering one of her palms. She held a finger up to him, a smile across her lips as she seemed to come to some sort of realization. "T-Bale, right?" She asked, and a burst of gratification came over Ty at being recognized by someone he didn't even know. "I remember you, you were the lead for the school musical last year!"

Ty's smile widened at the mention of the musical.

_The stage was still set. A few bouquets of flowers were littered over the floor, and only one of the stage lights still shone, leaving most of the stage dark. Ty sat cross-legged in that small circular beam of light, a smile still on his face as he stared at the now empty seats. That smile hadn't fallen from his face yet, and he didn't want it to ever. His moment in the spotlight was coming to a close, but he wasn't ready to give it up._

_He knew that he was destined to be famous, to be adored by cheering crowds. The feeling he got when he was given the lead role in the school musical was unlike anything else he had ever felt. It made all the struggle and hard work worth it all. His being chosen was proof to him, evidence that he belonged on this stage. __Standing alone, the light on him, hundreds of eyes watching him, listening to every note that he belted out, being brought to tears and laughter by him and what he could do, it was unlike anything else. It made him sure of what he had to do. How could he go back to the everyday life of school after this? He had gotten that small taste of stardom, and he refused to let go of it._

_This was what he was destined to do. Not everybody could be special, but he was. Ty Bale would be a name nobody would forget. If he was just another student, another citizen, another worker, what would he be worth? He had to be something more._

_He soaked in the light of the stage, remembered the applause echoing throughout the room, and kept it all inside of him as a reminder. This was what he could do, this is who he was. He was a star, and anyone who doubted him would regret it when they saw him soar._

"You were good, man," the girl said, snapping Ty back to the present. "What happened to you. How'd you end up here?"

All the positive energy he had gained from the compliments were sapped from him. "Gotta start somewhere," he said, forcing himself to smile as his hands absently began to create a giraffe out of habit. "Just you wait, you'll be seeing more of me."

"Yeah," one of the boys at the table said, "but like, isn't starring in a musical a step up from making balloon animals for kids?"

"Fame isn't a straight climb," he said, laughing slightly as he attempted to keep up his nonchalant demeanor. Making the balloon animal was doing nothing to calm his nerves.

"Yeah," the other boy joined in, "but how is this helping you climb? I don't think there's many famous balloon animal makers out there—"

"I'm just waiting," he blurted out, losing his coolness as he did so. A balloon popped in his clenched hands, causing silence to fall over the room for a moment as everyone looked towards the source of the noise. He took a moment to recollect himself as the group looked at him oddly, conversation quickly returning to the room. "I'll get my chance. I'm just being patient."

The girl with the pink hair was the first one to speak up, doing so in a quiet voice. "Hey, like I said man, you were great. I hope you make it."

"I will," he said quickly, then shortly after added, "thanks." He was saved from any further conversation or awkwardness by the owner calling him over.

He walked up to the man with a cool smile, while his insides turned over with anxious worries that he wasn't able to quiet. How did the man think he did? He did everything right, he had to of. He was quick, not spending too much time at any one table, but he was still entertaining. His balloon animals were great, and all of his jokes were laughed at. He did good enough, the man had to have seen that.

The man didn't offer any sort of reprieve from Ty's worries. He merely thanked Ty, handed him his wage for the day's work, and checked to make sure Ty was still coming in for tomorrow as was agreed before. When Ty affirmed that, the man went away, back into the kitchen, leaving Ty without any sort of feedback.

That bothered Ty more than he'd like to admit, but he didn't allow himself to show it. He wasn't really too focused on the man anyways. He asked him back for tomorrow, right? That had to mean that he was satisfied, and he'd give him more praise after his agreed upon shift was finished. He just had to be patient.

It was those kids' words that still hung with him. He shouldn't even care about them, they were just some stupid kids skipping school and spending the day hanging at some lame family restaurant. But those words echoed in Ty's mind, those doubts ringing close to others. He found his feet halting in place as he reached the door.

_They were done celebrating. Ike had been the center of attention for the past few hours, their parents doting on him and his girlfriend Layla, and not paying a single mind to their other son. Everything that Ike did was perfect, after all. He had the girlfriend they loved, was always the social, outgoing one that made friends so easily, and now he had made it into university. Ty could never be enough next to that._

_His parents came to his room shortly after he heard Ike and Layla leaving, the two not even bothering to ask before coming in. There were no pretensions of this being anything other than a chance to attack him on not being enough._

"_Why can't you find it in you to be happy for your brother and his accomplishments?" His dad demanded, the two marching into the room while Ty sat up on his bed._

"_He's got plenty of that already," Ty murmured. "He's all you care about anymore."_

"_I've had enough of all of this feeling sorry for yourself, Ty. You cannot just cut yourself off from your friends, and lock yourself up in your room all day with absolutely no purpose, and expect praise for it."_

"_I can't just—" Ty didn't get the chance to speak for himself._

"_Can't go out? Because the outside world isn't clean enough for you?" His dad demanded. His mom looked uncomfortable, but didn't jump to Ty's defense, remaining silent. "Not planned out to the minute, with every germ scraped clean of every surface? You can't keep hiding from the real world forever."_

"_I'm—" he was cut short again._

"_You need to find some sort of purpose," his dad said. "I don't care what it is. It can be university like your brother, it can be a job, or something artistic, I really don't care. But you need to do something. You can't just exist."_

_His dad shook his head and left the room before Ty was able to respond. His mom waited a moment longer, looking at her son sadly, before joining her husband, leaving Ty all alone in his room._

Ty paused. He allowed himself a moment at the doorway, recollected his thoughts, calmed his breathing, and stretched out his arms. Then, he pushed everything aside, and walked out the door.

**Julie Novum, 14  
**_10 Months ago_

Her face still stung. Her cheek was still pinched a dull sort of red, and she rubbed away at it, as if she could scrub the color off. All she did was make it turn deeper. That seemed like a good metaphor for her life at the moment. No matter how hard she tried to make things better, return to some sort of normalcy, it just made it all worse.

It wasn't like she had known Malcolm that well. He was a boy in her class that was kind of a dork, and clearly crushed on her, and that she clearly didn't crush on in return. She hardly knew him, and would hardly even call him a friend. But still, she knew him. She talked to him sometimes, they'd work together in class. And then one day his desk was empty, and it was never filled again. He died in a cold, dark arena, screaming for his life while his insides were torn out of him.

Laelia rejecting her shouldn't have mattered compared to that. She felt guilty to admit to herself that it hurt even more. She had only known Laelia for just a few months, but every time that she was with her there was a feeling in her gut that made her feel sick just being next to her. Even a smile would make her feel like she needed to double over. It was gross, and she hated it, and she was terrified what would happen if her parents found out. But she asked anyways, the hardest thing she had ever done. Even falling from rooftops couldn't compare. And she said no. Not an easy letdown either. She decided not to think about it.

She passed by a cracked mirror, caked in a thick layer of dust as it lay in the street, propped up against a battered storefront. Julie took a moment to stop, wiping the dust off with her shirt, enough of a clear image to make herself out. She hardly recognized the girl that stared back at her.

Surrounded by the ruins of a sector that had long ago been burnt, Julie stood. Her hair was chopped down to just her shoulders, bleached and dyed a bright pink. Lucy had encouraged the idea and provided the means, saying that it would 'get her back in her groove.' It didn't make her feel any different, and when she got home it earned her a verbal assault from her parents, and when she tried to defend herself, a slap across the cheek from her father.

She rubbed at the mark again, pushing over the mirror to avoid having to watch as tears began to stream down her dirt-stained cheeks. She couldn't help but cry, and didn't bother trying to stop herself. The world felt like dirt, and her skin crawled, and so why should she pretend everything is okay? The sound of her sobs echoed through the street as she continued to walk down it. This was her happy place, somewhere for her to escape and be free. Nobody could tell her who she could or couldn't be. There were no cages, no boxes, no limitations or expectations. Whenever she would climb the buildings, and look out at the rest of the district, and see what was beyond it, those were the only times she ever felt like herself. Free.

But just seeing some distant landscape couldn't free her from what she felt right now. Nobody else was boxing her in, it was only her. The words from Laelia and her father had cut her deep, and those insults still rang around in her ears. She was completely alone. She could scream at the top of her lungs, and not a single soul would hear her. And she still felt trapped.

Julie didn't notice that she had walked to the wall until she was upon it. She looked up, and saw it stretch up, seemingly forever, like the sky itself was cut in half. The bottom half was a completely flat mass of dusty concrete, only a few dents and chipped away chunks marking any damage in it. But further up was something else. Metallic walkways stretched across, all the way to the top of the wall itself. It was meant for Peacekeepers who were on watch duty, like they were at every other part of the wall in the district. But while the people had abandoned this sector, the walkways were left. And up there, she figured, had to be a way down, on the outside of the wall, out into whatever waited on that side of the world that she had never managed to sneak a look at.

She saw a building nearby, its rooftop lifting up to just below where the lowest of the walkways hung, barely hanging on, only a few metallic bars keeping it suspended in the air from where it dropped at a nearly perfect vertical angle. The building was separated by about ten feet from where the walkway hung.

There wasn't really any thought about it. Her body seemed to move by its own will, her feet stomping against the ground as she turned her walk into a jog into the building. She ran up the steps as far as they would take her, and when they became blocked off by debris, stepped out the broken window and shimmied across the thin ledge as she hugged the outside wall. She found a ladder that brought her up another story, and was able to step back inside to climb up another story before being forced outside again.

This time there was no ledge to push herself against, or ladder to give her an easy way up. The window let her out into an empty, unmarked wall, save for a single air conditioning unit that hung dangerously loosely just above the window. From there she would be able to climb to the next story, where a ladder could take her most of the way to the roof. This was the final hard step before she could make it to the rooftop.

Julie looked down, and felt her chest tighten as the world seemed to shrink from up so high. She was four stories up, too high for even Lucy to ever risk, Lucy, who had broken just about every bone in existence from her many falls. If she stopped to think about what she was doing, weigh her options and think about what she was doing, she would stop herself. So she didn't think.

Her toes pushed down as she propelled herself up, her hands gripping the sides of the metal unit. That momentary bliss rushed through her, where nothing in the world was weighing her down, or keeping her up. It was only her, no cages, just open air and the wind rushing past her ear and blowing her hair into her face.

Julie's fingers curled against the piece of metal, finding too late her fingers slipping against the slick surface. Just as soon as she had leapt upwards, she found herself curving in the other direction. There wasn't enough time for even a single thought to enter Julie's mind as she hurdled toward the ground.

Her arm took the brunt of the impact, the cracking sound was unmistakable even through the general smacking sound of body on concrete. Julie's breath left her body, her eyes widening as her mouth gaped open. She was barely conscious enough to roll herself off of her side and onto her back, her arm screaming with an intense pain that left her powerless to let in a breath, or let it escape as a scream.

Blurriness filled her vision as tears pooled around her eyes, and even as the shocking pain persisted in her arm, she found enough in her to let a pained scream escape. That was all she could manage, though, and soon after she found herself collapsing back onto herself.

There was no room for deeper thoughts than the forefront one in her mind of the searing pain that enveloped her entire arm. She dared to steal a look at her arm, and was barely able to keep in her lunch when she did.

The unmistakable white of bone poked through the skin of her arm. Somehow the pain seemed to double. A crushing, overwhelming worry burst through her mind. Her entire body was sapped of energy. She couldn't lift a finger, much less her legs. The sky was unmistakably darkening, and she was in the middle of a neighborhood that nobody would stumble upon her in.

What if this was it? The thought seemed to echo within her mind. Just like Malcolm, she would be nothing but a soon forgotten memory of others, something that passes into a secondary source of pain within days, and to complete nonexistence not long after. The wall loomed over her, casting a shadow over her body and darkening the already dim night. As the night continued, and any rational thought or optimism gave way to hopelessness, she found herself staring at that wall, sure it would be the last thing she would see.

It didn't matter, she supposed, but she couldn't help but hope that whatever laid behind it was worth it.

* * *

**A/N: And there we have our D3 duo! Hope you liked these two! They were both really fun characters to play around with, and I have lots planned for both of them in the Capitol.**

**Trivia(1 point): What are the three landscapes that Julie saw outside of the D3 walls?**

**Trivia(1 point): T-Bale approaches you and says he'll make you one balloon animal. Which animal do you choose?**

**See you all next week with the D5 intros!**


	6. D5: Burn it down to feel its warmth

"Burn it down to feel its warmth"

* * *

**A/N: Monotony is the greatest enemy of an SYOT writer doing a dozen intros, so I'm getting experimental with my writing style to keep things fresh for myself as well as all of you.**

**Warning: Chronic abuse is detailed in both of these characters, particularly Nikola. This is rated T, and I don't go into explicit detail, but things are fairly vividly alluded to that might make many of you uncomfortable. If you find yourself unable to read Nikola's POV, don't feel any pressure to force yourself to do so. You can skip it, and PM me for a summary if you want one. If you want a more specific idea of what his POV entails before reading, you can PM me about that as well.**

* * *

_~The cycle repeated_

_As explosions broke in the sky_

_All that I needed_

_Was the one thing I couldn't find~_

* * *

**River, ~14  
**_Some Months ago._

The woods were silent. Wind rustled against the trees, branches rocking back and forth as leaves blew across the forest floor. In the midst of the foliage, a young girl stood still, crouched, mud painted across her cheeks, while dirt caked her once blonde hair. Hazel eyes darted across the forest, leaping from one section to the next, while her face remained like a statue. Even the air she breathed in seemed to do so without notice, only the soft expansion and compression of her chest giving proof to her life.

Her fingers slid deftly against the string of her bow. She watched the elk lower its head in the distance, and envisioned an arrow in her quiver. She pictured the soft touch of feather as she pulled the arrow, the thin string tightening at her control. The elk turned towards her, large, hazel eyes just like her own meeting with her. Their heartbeats pounded in a fierce unison for a single moment, the elk's ears lifting up in an emotion the girl was unable to understand.

The string loosened in her grip, her finger soundlessly gliding off the bow and hanging in the brisk fall air. The elk looked away, slowly trotting away from the clearing as it followed the promise of larger, greener patches of grass. The girl felt her hand tighten around the wood of her bow, and soon averted her own eyes from the large animal as it escaped through the thick foliage.

She took her lone arrow from her bag, rubbing her fingers across the rough exterior as extrusions of wood thinly pierced her hands. She tapped her finger against the arrowhead, imagining the black tip flying through the air, the sound that it would make when it sunk into its target.

A breeze brushed against the girl, and she snapped the arrow asunder. She didn't look where the pieces ended up when she tossed them into the nearby bushes. The girl wiped away the water near her eyes. Dirt was left in its place, and some of that soft earth shook off of her as she stepped out of the bushes.

Even now she was sure to leave no trace, every step coming with careful consideration. There could be no sound as her bare feet stepped on damp earth, no imprint left to track, not even a branch bent out of shape. She didn't live within the forest, but rather on top of it, a phantom that borrowed only what it needed, and did so without noise. There was no coexistence, or mutually beneficial systems in place. She scraped just enough off of the sides that there could be no notice of what she had taken, and wanted no more than that. That was her rule.

But wants can't be contained so easily. The girl wasted little time in finding The River. It was nothing extraordinary to look at, just a thin runway of water, split into two different branches that ran across the land that their people had settled. Stepping beyond The River was seen as incomprehensible, an insult to the gods that would result in damnation for all people in the forest. Even submerging oneself into the water was seen as sacrilege, asking the gods to curse you for being egotistical enough to believe yourself worthy of the honor.

The girl didn't dare step into the water, she didn't even like to touch it. Yet she found comfort in looking at it. She sat in the woods, her back lodged against a tree near a small pile of stones, and she would skip stones, watching them become one with The River as they were enveloped into the deep waters. She was born of The River, and she liked to imagine that she still belonged to it in some way, that it were still as much a part of her as it had been the day she was found. Anything to give herself some greater purpose.

She wondered if any part of her was aware of what was going on when she was found. Sure, she was only a baby, seemingly unable to comprehend anything of the world outside of the basket that kept her afloat, rocked her softly so that it made her eyes tired. Yet still, something that monumental, something so strange and out of place and lacking belonging in the neat, compact place that Oikos was, how could even a newborn see that as normal. Did she cry out louder, knowing that she was fated to always be an outcast, motherless? Maybe she didn't cry at all. The girl thought about that day a lot, creating memories where her mind held not even a fragment, and she had a picture that she had become most fond of by then.

The River would have been calm, the sky clear, but not so sunny that one had to shield their eyes with every step out of the shadows. The basket would drift down the river soothingly, barely moving at all, and she was silent, her eyes painted on the blue sky above her, her arms stretching out as if to grasp it and pull it close to her chest. A child would notice the basket, and would step closer to the water to see it for themself. When they saw there was a baby inside, they would run to the village, and before long Wanderer would come running, by himself, and would wade through the water to bring her to shore. More of the villagers would arrive, and they would all crowd around to see the child whom The River had gifted to them. They would give her a name. She was The River's Daughter.

This was all a fabrication. It came rooted just enough in truth that she could turn off the parts of her brain that would protest, and she could pretend that it might have been reality. She would do this while she sat on the forest floor, and looked up at that same blue sky that she imagined, and let names ring through her head that they would give to her. None of it was true though, and the girl knew that well enough that those thoughts would never take too firm a hold before she found herself snapped out of it. Perhaps she would come back to reality when she felt a chilly breeze on her arms, or when a cloud would glide across the sky and obscure that great blue void. It didn't matter how, it always happened.

The day had been cold, dreary, and rainy, with a heavy overcast that left the sky a dirty blend of grey and black, dotted with blue drops of rain. It was a warrior who first saw her, and he did go and get the elders, but only after throwing his spear at the basket first, the tip crafting a scratch into the side of the basket. Wanderer was there, but so was Big Hunter and one of his sons who had yet to earn his name. She thinks he's named Healer now, but she isn't sure. It was Big Hunter who had waded through the water to retrieve her, dragged her to the shore, and after a brief debate, condemned her as motherless, and left Wanderer to raise her as an outcast.

This too was a fabrication. But all stories are, in one way or another, and it was in this story that the girl had found her deepest, most honest belief in. It contained whispers of reality, shadows of truth that became fainter and more weightless with each time it was retold, first from Wanderer and then by herself in her own private thoughts. Before long it would be no more truthful than her dreams, yet it would always feel much more real.

There was a rustling in the bushes behind her. She heard two sets of feet behind her, but didn't turn to see them with her own eyes. If she looked at them they would run, and leave her alone. Even if she couldn't see them, or speak to them, the presence of another person was something she was so deprived of she would take it in any dose she could. The footsteps weren't breaking off towards the forest, though, or moving towards a distant part of The River, a basket of clothes to be washed. They neared closer to her.

She risked a look when she heard the steps turn into running. "Get her!" She heard. The voice was a boyish one she could vaguely recognize. She spun around in time to catch a glance of the two boys, and recognized them instantly from the village. They were sons of the elders, not much older than herself, prominent enough to already have a name, even before adulthood. They were Starlight and Seeker.

This was all that her mind could process before the two boys grabbed onto her, pushing her forward and thrusting her into The River. There was no time for any sound to escape as her face was dunked into the water. Bubbles rushed up around her eyes, clouding her vision as she opened her mouth to scream. Waves swirled around her as she thrashed with her arms and legs, kicking and punching and clawing at the four arms that attempted to keep her submerged.

She was able to slip through their grip just enough to lift her head into air, her vision still a watery swirl as she gasped in half a breath, water entering her mouth as she was dunked back under before her breath was completed. She choked on the breath, could feel herself growing weary as she hacked away under the water, everything varnished with a gargled veneer, water filling her eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and every waking thought that still shot through her panicked mind.

Through that watery prison that occupied every one of her senses, she heard someone yelling in the distance. The grips on her back laxed just enough that she was able to bring herself back above water. This time she was left unattended as she gasped in air. She flopped onto her back and slashed away from the two boys, deeper into The River. The two boys were no longer paying mind to her, though, their focus on the woman in the distance who continued to shout their names.

"You damn boys stay away from that child! Don't you touch that motherless curse!" The boys exchanged a sheepish look, as if caught stealing away dessert before clearing the rest of their plate. The two hurried towards the woods with their heads down, the woman following them the whole while, chastising them, going on about their stupidity for even being near her, much less letting her touch them.

The girl was only vaguely aware of this. She still sat in The River, only the top of her neck reaching above the now-calm surface. Her breath was still ragged, water dripping from her mouth as she choked out liquid that had trailed down her throat. She had just enough sense to wade towards the shore, crawling onto the solid ground when her knees touched the dirt floor.

Her arms ached, but she refused to let them give way, her limbs shaking like jelly as they struggled to keep her stable, as her body shuddered with strained breaths. Her chest threw forward and inward with each moment, while water still dripped from her tattered clothes and tangled hair, ran down her face so that she was unsure whether or not she was crying. A damp coldness took over her, and she was unable to tell apart the shivering from the shuddering, and momentarily couldn't decide if it were even cold.

There were no thoughts that she could cling to. Her mind was a scattered pattering of thoughts and sensations, muddled by paranoia and buried fear. She wondered for a moment if she were dying, when even after what felt like minutes she found herself barely able to haul in a shaky breath, her arms and knees slick as they slid against the dirt, tempting her to just fall to the ground.

By the time she could focus enough to grasp at a thought, she held onto it tightly. She knew those boys, she had seen them with the other kids in the village. They had always seemed so kind. When another of the children, a girl of about the same oldness as herself, had been yelled at and hit by her father, the boys had chased after her into the forest. They had said soothing words to her, sat with her and told her it was all going to be okay. She had watched from not far away when that had happened, and imagined that those words were being directed towards herself instead.

If she could just understand. Pain swelled from all around her, from the cold and the dampness and her tightened throat and aching arms and reddened back where they had dug their nails into her as they tried to shove her further down into the water. But those were pains she could understand, pains that she could make sense of and relate to. She had been scratched and bruised. She had spent nights freezing cold, drenched in rain. She had even known the panic of breathing in water, and felt the hoarseness in her throat afterwards as she huddled beside the water. It wasn't the pains that she understood that hurt her.

They had seemed so nice. She had never said a word to them, and they had never said any to her, at least none that she had heard. Deep down she knew that they all spoke of her, that mothers tucked their children in at night with scary stories of the motherless child of The River. They all hated her, and no matter how much she tried, no matter how many times Wanderer had explained their fears, she could never understand. The words were there, the explanations all memorized and repeated over and over again, but together those words were just that: words. How could words ever explain something so far beyond what can be spoken?

She longed for something more. For a mother to be with her now, to hug her close and brush a hand through her hair, whisper soothing words into her ears. It didn't matter what the words themselves were, it was just the voice, the presence, that mattered. A voice could warm her now much more than any flames could hope to. But there was no voice. How was it she could long so desperately for something that she had never had? Something she had never known and had to lose?

Maybe she had known it once. Maybe that baby that silently floated down the waters in a basket didn't cry, not because of a blue sky or easy waters, but because of a voice which was still recent enough to not have disappeared totally into the past. Maybe that voice was already fading by then, only a fabrication. But that would have been enough. Even knowing that voice existed would have been enough, that it had whispered sweet words into her ear, before she had sailed down The River, further and further away, until even that fabrication faded away and left nothing, not even dust.

She didn't know for certain. Couldn't know. Never would. She would never know if a voice had whispered soft words to her before placing her in that basket. She would never see that baby's eyes, and see whether or not tears stained her cheeks on that day. The sky would always be alternating between storm and calm, the people who had discovered her a constantly changing, shadowy recreation. Fabrications were as uncertain as they were ever-changing, deteriorating in some ways and added to in others.

That fabrication was wholly her own, and in the cold, the girl reached out for some form of warmth in that ever-changing picture that she had created. She needed something, a burning, raging fire that could keep her from freezing, as her limbs threatened to buckle, yet refused to allow herself to fall to the dirt. She couldn't envision a face, or a body. But a voice was distant, just pliable enough to stitch together. Plausibly hazy enough, distorted so that nothing specific remained, not even a tone or a sound, so all that remained of this created memory was a feeling. A warm, caring voice, soft with regret as her child sailed down a river that was at the same time calm and fierce. She pictured a name passing through that voice's lips as that child faded away, far enough into the distance that the movement of the waters could have been a distant child crying.

**Nikola Surge, 17  
**_1 Day ago._

The match struck, a flicker of flame illuminating the dim room as he held the match up to his mouth, lighting the tip of the musky cigarette. He inhaled, closing his eyes as the smoke filtered through his lungs. The smoke held there for a long moment, tightening in his chest before he was forced to exhale, wisps of smoke snaking through his pursed lips. The lone window in the room let in just enough of the evening light for his narrowed eyes to make out his surroundings, and so he pressed his fingers to the match, the flame snuffing out under his skin. The room brightened the slightest bit every time he inhaled from the cigarette, though he preferred his eyes to be closed while he took in the smoke.

His skin cooled, fatigue and nervous energy that existed in strange coexistence both ceasing to exist as he entered into a state of simpler being. His thoughts seemed to seep out of his mind, and if he wished to ponder something he got the feeling it would need to be said out loud. The feeling was gratifying. Peace was so rarely found in his days. There was always some desire or another guiltily assailing his consciousness.

The day had gone by relatively like any other. He had spent the previous night sleepless, tangled in sheets with Solario for part of the night, but spending most of it in his own bed, restless. Morning had gone by as most do after a sleepless night, slowly and drearily, but without much consequence. The work day was much the same, it all blurred together for him at this point, so that he only remembered pieces of it. Not even necessarily the important bits, he wasn't sure there was anything that had happened that fit that description.

He remembered tidbits of conversation with Gaia. Sweet woman she was, really thinking that she's just an HR worker at a machinery manufacturer. Best that she didn't learn any more about the business.

They had exchanged light-hearted complaints about the dismal state of the coffee. He was charming as always, didn't even blink when she joked that he should use his sway with Mr. Surge to get some better tasting morning brew. Such comments were like private jokes, unfunny ones that only reminded him of his own sick, twisted disgust with himself. When he laughed and said he'd put in a word, he envisioned the request being made in a whispered voice through tangled, stained bed-sheets. It could almost be funny, but it wasn't anything more than ironic. He was on the knowing side of some perverse inside joke that he found no amusement in.

He took another drag, the smoke pushing those thoughts out of his head as he reached for his paintbrush, examining the blank canvas that was in front of him. Assorted colors awaited the touch of the brush, longed to be transferred onto the white space, but the yellows and blues and greens remained dry and ignored. He dipped his brush into the grey, and painted with an absence of thought.

Trivial tidbits demanded his focus, small pulls from conversation and news broadcasts. Parents executed for hiding their daughter from the registry and shielding her from the reapings. A group of free expression radicals discovered hiding out in an abandoned power plant, their ancient books all burnt at a massive fire. An independent village existing just outside of District Five's borders discovered, the adult population slaughtered and the few children seen as not yet indoctrinated brought into the district.

That one stuck with him in particular, the images on the television of the dozen feral kids looking at the urban landscape with wide eyes. He wondered how long it would take for most of them to end up trafficked through his father's business. Uneducated, nonvocal kids with no family to go to, no place to call home, no skills to find legitimate work? The lucky ones would be muling drugs by the end of the calendar year. The more stubborn ones would find less desirable work being demanded of them soon after. Life in District Five was unkind to those without family to shield them.

His brush painted a harsh stroke across the center of the canvas, and he set down the brush for a moment, cracking his knuckles as he took a step away from the painting. It was just a few strokes, dashes and lines that all formed a familiar pattern. He could feel a phantom hand trace the scars along his chest as his eyes traveled along the path. He picked up his brush again, and sloppily worked on covering up the pattern that brought forth sensations that he hated himself for desiring.

He could taste whisky on his breath as he took a long drag from the cigarette that continued to burn in his free hand. Fresh red marks from the previous night burned along his back as he was reminded of their existence. Even now cold hands roughly grasped his sweaty skin, greedy, unwanted hands that he had long ago stopped fighting against. It disgusted him to wonder why he had given up, because truthfully he wasn't certain.

What he felt was beyond words. It was tantalizing at times, and more often disgusting, and nearly always inevitable and hopeless, above fighting back against. There were feelings there of some sort, as much as he despised the thought, but what they were he couldn't know.

It wasn't love.

Love was an almost foreign concept to him at this point, an abstraction that was purposefully opaque. Love was something simpler. Love was Nikola, at six years old, sitting on his mother's lap while she knitted a sweater for him, telling him a story that had escaped his memory long ago. It was a good story, though, that he was certain of. He remembered asking her why she bothered knitting a sweater, even when it took her hours upon hours, and made her fingers swell and ache, when she could just buy one at the store instead.

He remembered the way she had stopped knitting, looking down at him with a smile that somehow managed to say so much. That smile was what he envisioned when he heard the word love. A mother, amused that her son couldn't understand why she would want to do something for him, telling him that she wanted to knit a special sweater, for her special boy. He couldn't remember how he had reacted to that, what he had said, or how he had felt, if he had stuck out his tongue and squeezed his way out of her grip, ducking away from any affection like kids always do, before that flame is suddenly extinguished, and you find yourself yearning something so simple.

The way it made him feel now was still with him, though. He had to set his brush down for a second time in order to avoid becoming emotional over that sole memory that could still bring out that long-buried part of him. He sucked on the cigarette, focusing on the feeling of the smoke as it rippled against the ridges of his mouth, and slid down his throat.

He exchanged his brush for a thicker one. He would paint in broader strokes, specifics and intricacies always lead him down the same beaten path. The rest of that story would always end the same way, and he preferred to keep that moment as it was, his mother frozen in time before she was lost to it. That story would always then lead to those feelings so unlike love. He was ten years old that first time, and emotions were so much simpler at that time. There was pain, echoed by the sounds of his own screaming, and fear and betrayal and afterwards a burning hatred that smoldered over time. As much as his own emotions became clouded, that lust in his father's eyes always remained the same. No matter how much Solario spoke of love, that other L-word would always be dominant.

The painting was all grey, and Nikola dipped his brush in water, washing it anew as he began to bring other colors onto the canvas. But still no yellows, no blues and greens and oranges. Never those.

He skipped forward.

There were innocent enough thoughts that he could linger to. He could trail back to the trivial ones, though those never satisfied him for long while he thought in solitude, and he always would find a path back to those darker thoughts. There was enough to satisfy his muse in his other place of conflicted emotion. Dynamo Arden, did he still even remember Nikola's name?

That was a stupid thought, of course he did, the two still spoke every once in a while. The two had been friends, in some ways still were. Nikola was unsure whether friendship was something he was able to reciprocate anymore. For as much as he could ponder back on love and friendship and hatred, he found it increasingly harder for such strong emotions to dominate over him anymore. He only had his mask, his charming persona he wore, and his more self-serving aspirations and drives beneath it, the ones that reveled in others' sorrows.

Long ago, though, Nikola could have admitted to himself that he liked Dynamo. Perhaps he still did, but what did that matter if he couldn't even admit that to himself, in his most private and intimate frames of existence. It wouldn't matter, anyways. He belonged to Solario. It didn't matter that Dynamo reminded him of his mother, sweetness and kindness not out of reason but out of feeling, of love.

No, thinking about Dynamo Arden wasn't worth anything. Just as fruitless as mindless trivia, nearly as painful as farther back memories. He would skip further forward. To something that wasn't tainted by shame, or pain, or disgust, even if it ought to.

Another drag, another cleaning of the palate, back to the familiar grey. His cigarette was beginning to burn to its end by now. He wouldn't continue to paint without a smoke, that tended to defeat the purpose of the whole thing, whatever it was. He wasn't quite sure himself what the purpose of these sessions were. Maybe it was just a way to block out an hour of his time he would otherwise have to spend wandering the halls of his house that Solario still stalked through. Maybe it was more. If there was a deeper purpose, he couldn't say what it was.

His work was what he focused on now. On normal days it would be all he would think on, but today there was little to focus on. Still though, he always had ways to think about the family business, how to run it more smoothly, precisely, even expand it. Vice was a sector that could always be expanded. Lust and addiction were never satisfied.

He liked to imagine himself in that position that Solario now stood in. In power, the lives of others fully within his grasp. Already he had a taste of that power, the rush he got knowing he held complete control over another living being. He could be merciful, have them smuggle drugs, or even more kindly, have them recruit vulnerable others. Or he could force them into the worst that their business dealt in. The scars that were left on his chest were nothing compared to what would be done to them. That power was his to hold, and his only.

The flames at the end of the cigarette began to burn his finger as he gripped onto it, and so he set down his brush, and looked at what was in front of him. His scars were still familiar, painted across a mirror set of bodies, just recently carved in by a bloodied knife that was in the hands of one of the figures.

He swatted the canvas off of the stand. There would be no purpose making sense of these paintings. Whatever they had to say, it was nothing that could benefit him. He was making his way in the world, his own way, and his way was what he knew well. That power was always within his grasp, and satisfied his cravings in a much more substantial way than smoke in his lungs or paint on a canvas ever could.

The cigarette now seared his fingertips, and he was forced to drop it. He watched as it fell onto the painting, the flame looking like it was beginning to catch for a split-second, before dimming and eventually fading away, a thin line of grey smoke rising up from the image. Nikola stood near the painting for a moment, catching the taste of smoke on his tongue and letting it linger there, so that it stayed with him, even after the smoke gave way to a timid smoldering.

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**A/N: This really felt like a gargantuan task of a chapter to tackle. Both of these characters have such complex issues and internal dialogues, and I hope I was able to capture them in all of their many states of being. I know this was a much less action-packed chapter, but I enjoyed getting to try something a bit different than my normal style of writing for once, and I think these two served well to try this out with. Expect to see much more doing in our coming 3 chapters. (and speaking more broadly, these two are going to be seeing a lot of interaction in the coming pre-games, which is part of the reason why I wanted to focus more internally, while I had the chance)**

**(PS: Solario is Nikola's dad, in case that wasn't clear enough)**

**I'd just like to take a moment to say that I've been blown away by the amazing support this story has gotten so far. I've loved reading all of your kind and thoughtful reviews that you've all left me, and it motivates me to continue to work on this story at this consistent pace. So thank you to everyone for supporting me, it really does mean a lot :)**

**Trivia(1 point): What's your favorite book of all time?**

**Trivia(1 point): Have you seen any characters you think your tribute (or someone else's) would be interesting to see interact with and/or ally with so far?**


	7. D7: Evil Ways

"Evil Ways"

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**A/N: Late update, but hey, it's still Saturday lol. A bit of a shorter chapter, because these two are going to be getting a lot of the spotlight during the pre-games themselves.**

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_~Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Money don't grow on trees_

_I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed_

_There ain't nothing in this world for free~_

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**Juniper Lourdes, 16  
**_10 Months ago._

The lumber mills of the district were struggling, and the effects could be felt everywhere. Orphanages were overstuffed, children packed bed to bed within the few remaining, while people sat all along the town square, begging every passerby to give them some form of work. There were too many mouths to feed all of a sudden, though nobody knew why. Everyone had their own theories, but it didn't much matter in the end. Juniper didn't care much, anyways. It was Panem, after all, that was more than enough explanation for any hardship or pain.

Nowhere did this gloom seem to take hold stronger than at the bars within the outskirts of the town, where the lowliest of the merchant class laid their stake. Juniper had seen the comfortable world this once provided begin to melt around her. Her father worked himself relentlessly, pushing himself ever close to an early grave. No longer was the custom furniture they could so meticulously design enough. All hands were on deck in the lumber yards. Her mother had become even more blatant with her attempts to hand her off to a suitor, presenting her to anybody left in the district who still had a dime to spare.

But while her mother had her schemes, and her father had his work, Juniper could do nothing to help. She began to know what hunger meant, and longed for the days where that pain was unimaginable.

"What brings a girl like you to a place like this," the man said to the girl seated next to him.

Right, the bar. There's not much to describe. It looked in much the way that one imagines when they depict a bar in a depressed society. There was a dingy look to it, there were mostly men, wearing dark jackets and with hats covering their head as they leaned onto the table, their faces hidden beneath the shadow of dim light and the dirt and grime that painted their faces. A few groups played tense games of cards, though little money was exchanged, mostly just peanuts and meaningless chips. There was an air to the place that discouraged laughter or smiles, and it seemed as if every person in the room wore a grim disposition. One would imagine there to be cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and dust coating the floor, but it was surprisingly clean aside from the dirt and mud trekked in by the lumberjacks.

The bartender was a serious man, and took great care in spending every moment not pouring a drink working to keep the place spotless. That included throwing out those who might cause a scene, the man had no sense for squabbles being started within his establishment. But it was rare these days that he had to step in to stop that from happening. With the Peacekeepers cracking down stricter by the day, nobody wanted to give them a reason to pay a visit.

Juniper had enough time to take in all this information about the bar and the people within it, and enough left over to take a long gulp out of her glass of water, before she saw fit to answer.

She responded, and it didn't matter what she said. The man was too drunk to even make sense of it, sure, but even then she didn't need words to keep the man interested. Juniper had learned harshly over the recent years that often times, what she said meant little. The man could hardly even seem to open his eyes though, and probably only saw blurs when he did. Her voice was enough for now, smooth, enchanting, those were the words she had heard time and time again.

There was no surprise that it worked, the man even managed to smile. A silly, drunken smile, but still a smile. She had been sitting next to the man for an hour now, sober at first, she had put more effort into things then, slowly slipping to this point, where the rotting corpse of President Snow could woo him.

Juniper couldn't even say for certain why she was wasting her time stringing him along. She had never done anything like it before, had never even been inside of a bar before too recently. Maybe it was just out of pity, it might have been just a decently entertaining way to kill some time, or some exercise of her own power that she could hold so effortlessly. It could have been her practicing her charm, so that if her mother found the right man for her, maybe a mayor's son, she would be ready.

She didn't allow herself to entertain the thought that her intentions had been clear from the beginning, that she had known what she would do the moment she stepped into the sad, dim place. Times had gotten particularly hard, after all, and hunger nagged away at her heart just as much as her stomach.

Was evil still evil when the alternative was death?

That wasn't a question Juniper was ready to face, so instead she dodged around it. Death wouldn't be an option, and thus there was no alternative, no choice. With no decision there could be no ill intent. With no ill intent, no evil.

This justification didn't go through her mind when the man finally ceased to speak, his forehead resting against the bar. Juniper poked him, once and then a second and third time after a short delay, and there were no thoughts of vindication nor explanation. There was no rationalization. But there wasn't maliciousness either. In truth, Juniper wasn't sure what was going through her mind when she looked around the bar room, and slid her stool closer to the man's.

There was pain in her stomach, and that pain outweighed all else. It screamed, louder than thoughts or conscience. Hunger was enough of a reason, and to take it any deeper than a simple desire to let a pain cease would be to overcomplicate what was truly very simple.

Nobody in the bar noticed the woman as she slid copper coins out of the man's pocket, and placed it into her own. At one point, Juniper would think about that man. She would wonder if he were in actuality a wealthy merchant, with even more coins in his other pockets outside of her reach. She would tell herself he may have kept most of his money in his home, or he had a paycheck coming in the next day, or when those ideas shattered she at least decided he must have only had himself to take care of.

Hunger dominated life in Panem. It was a game more than just two dozen kids were forced to compete in. It wasn't Juniper's fault that it was a game she knew how to play.

She exited that bar, her pocket filled with coins, and she wasted no time in spending it. The money was enough for a couple of loaves of bread, and she devoured one of them on the spot, hiding the other two under her shirt as she made the walk home. She kept them hidden within her, slipping into her room before her parents could interrogate her on where she had been. She placed the bread in the back of a drawer, wrapped up in an old shirt she used to wear back when times were simpler and bellies were more easily filled.

Juniper felt no burst of adrenaline, no primal excitement over what had transpired. There was no rush, no desire to go out and do it again. There certainly wasn't any pleasure. But there was comfort, and safety, and warmth. Maybe that was enough.

**Vesa Carlisle, 18  
**_The Reaping_

It still felt as if his back were bleeding. That day hung in his memories, casting a shadow over his life ever since it had happened. And here, this day, was where that shadow ended. He had never thought about that day more than this moment.

For nearly a year he had trained for this, working up endurance and building his knife skills. Survival was something that was already a part of his daily routine. Maybe he should have spent that time learning how to disguise himself, so that none of the Peacekeepers would notice who he was. Maybe he wouldn't need to, and they had already forgotten. He could always hope.

The line was excruciatingly long at the sign-in. Packing every kid in the entire district into the small town square was practically impossible in its own right, and it left no room for adults. From all around the giant, sprawling district, kids made their voyage by themselves, or with any siblings also going, brought there by the wagons that went to the far edges of the district, packing them into the carriages.

Vesa didn't have to go as far, so really he should have been in line long ago. But those wagons brought kids in early, sometimes even a full day, and he had no intention of camping out at the town square overnight. That was a sure way to dash any hopes of going by unnoticed. Instead he hung back, not quite at the very end of the line, but far enough in that the Peacekeepers surely wouldn't be paying any mind to the faces of the kids checking in.

Theoretically speaking, the reaping started an hour ago, but everyone knew it wouldn't begin by then, with a solid hour still left until everyone got filtered into their places. That gave Vesa more time than he was comfortable with to think. After all, it wasn't exactly like he had anybody to talk with, and there weren't any interesting sights or smells out of the ordinary. Just the same deprived, reeking mass of humanity that was pushed far too closely together. Vesa imagined for a moment what would happen if a fire broke out. That thought might have been entertaining to him if he weren't the one smack dab in the middle of everything.

Vesa eyed the boy in front of him, and spotted the pocket on the back of his pants. Maybe he had some coins in there, he looked like he was from far away, dust and dirt caked his hair from the long journey, and his shoulders sagged with fatigue, so he probably was given some money to hold him over.

Normally he would give it a shot, see if he could get away with slipping out whatever was in it. Even if it wasn't coins, there was probably some sort of token, maybe a valuable one, hidden in there. He was good enough to do it without being spotted, especially with everyone packed so tightly together. But today, he wouldn't risk it. Not when he was so close to escaping the reapings. No need to do anything that might draw attention to him now.

It was a while waiting in line, but eventually he made his way to the front, and it was his turn to get his blood scanned. He kept his face low, hoping the dirt and grime that covered him hid his features enough to make him unrecognizable. The Peacekeeper grabbed hold of his hand, and he felt panic rising in him for a moment, but it quickly subsided as he had his finger pricked, and was released.

Then came the next bit of panic. He stole a glance up at the masked person, if they even were that. Rumors had spread in Seven that the new batch of Peacekeepers were mutts designed by the Capitol, that they had run out of volunteers and had to begin creating monstrosities that wore those helmets for a reason. Vesa didn't believe the rumours, though. They were monsters alright, but they weren't mutts.

He held his breath as the Peacekeeper read his name in a voice that betrayed no sort of emotion, then, without any pause, stated his section, and told him to move along. Vesa was practically shoved out of his place by the next boy in line, but he didn't even bother being mad at him. He made his way to his spot, feeling a sense of calm come over him that he hadn't allowed himself to believe in for the past year.

"Hey, look, it's the volunteer kid, what's his name?" A gruff voice of a Peacekeeper called out from beside him, guarding off the section for the eighteen year olds.

"Vesa Carlisle! Ha, I had almost forgotten about the slimy rat," another Peacekeeper from the other side of him chimed in.

The first one laughed, harshly shoving him along towards his section. "Good luck in the Games ya little weasel."

Both of the men laughed, and the two exchanged a few more jokes between each other that Vesa tuned out. He was walking on auto-pilot as thoughts flooded his mind. He had begun to hope that they had all forgotten about that day, but apparently they hadn't.

It was about a year ago now, and times had never been rougher. With the famine in the district, Peacekeeper presence had been upped, and suddenly he found himself unable to enter the market center where he did most of his thievery. Years of living off of whatever he could pickpocket had caught up to him, and everybody in the town center knew his face well enough to keep him far away.

He was getting sicker by the day, and even if he was desperate enough to go to an orphanage, they were already past capacity. He could have gotten a job as a lumberjack, with age restrictions being lowered, but even the managers knew his reputation by that point, and none of them would hire him. Nobody wanted to see Vesa survive through the winter.

So he did what he had to, the only option that was left to him. He stole from the Peacekeepers. They had a food pantry, and it was surprisingly poorly guarded, maybe they figured nobody would be brazen enough to try and steal from it. It just had to hold him over a few months, after that he could sign up for tesserae, lie on the documents and pretend that his birth parents and adopted dad were all still alive in order to get extra. If they ever found out that he lied he'd be executed, but he'd starve to death without the extra grain, and they were unlikely to check anyways. All he needed was a few months, and the food pantry offered that.

The first few times he had been careful, only taking enough to hold him over a little while. But soon his confidence got the better of him, and by the end of the month he had been caught, not by a Peacekeeper, but by some random civilian who turned him in for a reward. They hadn't even noticed anything was missing, but still they wanted to send a message.

They dragged him out to the town center, tied him to a post, and whipped him until his back bled, and he was on the verge of passing out. He was still weak, and wouldn't survive many more lashes, and they knew that. It was an execution, not a punishment.

So he bargained, with all that he had to bargain with. He promised them that he would train for the next year, and volunteer for the next year's Hunger Games. He pleaded with the crowd, telling them "wouldn't they much rather have him, a slimy rat none of them wanted around, to go into the Games, rather than one of their children?"

To be honest, he hadn't expected it to work. It was a desperate plea, something he needed to try, just to not feel helpless. But he got a big laugh out of the Peacekeepers, and after another lash, and a few more fake ones done to get him to jump, they set him free, banishing him from the town in the process.

All this ran through Vesa's mind in an instant as he stood in the front section, squeezed in on all directions. His options ran through his mind too. If he didn't volunteer, what would happen? There were only a few who remembered, probably, and so he could just sneak out with the rest of the herd. They didn't know where he lived, he was off the grid, out in the forest living in the shack he had constructed.

But no, they would find him if they wanted to, and running would just make their punishment that much more gruesome. There was no way to escape. But maybe he didn't have to.

Maybe they didn't really want him to volunteer, or at the very least weren't going to hold him to it. They had been laughing, so maybe that's all it was to them, a joke. Just an inside joke between the few Peacekeepers who were there, about the kid who had begged to be let go by saying he'd volunteer. Surely it couldn't have been allowed by their commander to let him go, and so it wasn't as if they would track him down and charge him for not going through with it.

Above all that, though, Vesa prepared himself for the worst possibility, and the one that he found himself believing in. They wanted him to volunteer, and if he didn't, his punishment would be much worse than just a public whipping, or anything the Hunger Games could throw his way.

He was going to have to go through with what he had been spending the past year mentally and physically preparing for. One year of living in the woods, forging and sneaking into the borders of the town to steal whatever he could. An entire year cutting up trees with his knife, imagining scenarios in his head, practicing interview strategies, playing both sides as he sat in his small hut. Everything had been building up to this moment, and yet he still wasn't ready for it.

He wasn't ready to volunteer, no matter what the alternative was. He wouldn't let those bastard Peacekeepers dictate what he did. They wanted him to do this for some joke, but he wouldn't be the punchline. Vesa never went back on his word, when he said something he meant it, but maybe just this once, if it meant sticking it to the Peacekeepers, he would.

With all this flurry going on in his mind, he didn't notice the mayor's speech, the new escort's introduction, or anything else that went on outside of his mind. He didn't even notice the escort pick a slip from the ball, walk back to the podium, and read out in a loud, clear, ringing voice, "Vesa Carlisle!"

Well, he noticed that.

**Juniper Lourdes, 16  
**_1 Day ago._

Juniper almost felt like singing. The woods were quiet as always, save for the occasional rustle of bushes that she could write off as a rabbit or squirrel, things she didn't need to open her eyes and pay any mind to. Sound battled from within her, and she gave in to a soft humming. There was an odd calm there, the center of a raging storm that had endured for so long. She clung onto those moments where she was able to escape from it.

She thought about swimming in the nearby pond, but decided against it. The winter air hadn't quite given way to spring yet, and the water was still chilling to the touch. Besides, she would have to be home soon, or her mother would throw a fit at her disappearance. Normally she would just take whatever annoyance her mother would have, but with the reaping so close she decided not to make things more tense than they needed to be.

Harlowe sat down beside her. She held up a bunch of small white flowers, inhaling the smell. "Achillea millefolium, haven't seen any of these around the woods in a while."

"What's it good for?" Juniper asked, only halfway listening. Plants weren't exactly her biggest interest, but there wasn't much choice in Seven on what to learn about. Trees and how to cut wood was usually where education started and stopped, so Juniper would soak up whatever extra information she could find, not for the information itself, but just for the sake of learning something. It kept her sharp.

"The easier question would be what it isn't good for," Harlowe bemoaned dramatically. She suddenly jumped up and balanced herself onto the log, holding the plants towards Juniper. "Chew it for toothaches, infuse it for earaches, use the stalk to get rid of pain, or put it into a tea to help you go to sleep."

"Real useful until a lumberjack misses his mark and buries an axe in your side," Juniper teased dryly.

Harlowe grinned, a cheeky smile as she continued with her terribly acted theatrics. She took the stalk of the flower, pretending to stab herself in the stomach. "If you do catch an axe to the side, or even stab yourself with a tomahawk to the collarbone," she gasped out. Juniper glared at her, rubbing the scarred skin hidden beneath her hair. "You better hope you have some of this around. Relieve the pain, but definitely not the embarrassment, staunch the bleeding, and if it was on fire for some reason and burnt you, it can help with that too." Harlowe ripped a bite out of the flowers, munching on them with an open mouth. "Miracle plant."

"Amazing," Juniper said plainly, rolling her eyes. She couldn't help but smile a little bit though. The younger girl was stupidly bubbly and optimistic, to an extent that should have annoyed her, but somehow it didn't. It was almost endearing. Harlowe understood the way that Juniper looked at the world, and didn't think she was stupid for it, she just disagreed. Juniper tried to give Harlowe the same benefit, though that was easier said than done.

"It's gotta be a sign," Harlowe said excitedly, returning from her theatrics as she sat back down on the log beside Juniper. "People used to call this 'life medicine,' and it went away around the same time everything here suddenly got so bad. Now that it's back, that's gotta mean something."

"It means you didn't trample on the bushes before they could sprout for once this year," Juniper snorted, picking up one of the flowers and twirling it with her fingers.

"You can choose to believe that," Harlowe said, plucking the flower from Juniper's fingertips. "And I'll choose to believe in something better."

"Tu te trompes," Juniper murmured.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you're an idiot." She smirked. "More or less."

Harlowe snorted. "How do you say, you have all the charm of a dead frog?"

Juniper shrugged. "Easy. Just say, Juniper, tu es incroyablement belle et charmante, contrairement à moi."

"Speaking of charm," Harlowe said, avoiding the trap and quickly changing the subject, as she munched on another of the flowers. "Your mom find you any eligible bachelors to marry you off to recently?"

"Not for lack of trying." Juniper sighed, pushing herself up. She took a few steps, pacing back and forth before leaning against the trunk of a tree. "I get it, it makes sense. We're still struggling, and marrying me off does more than just secure a future for me, it secures one for them to. More connections means more pieces ordered, which means enough food on the table, with only two mouths to feed instead of three."

"So perfectly logical, very realistic thinking," Harlowe said cheekily. "Well then, with that settled I'll go and get Jackson Obrum right now and tell him you accept his proposal."

Harlowe barely got three steps before Juniper called after her, "Oh, you don't have to be such a drama queen."

"Well how else am I going to be royalty?" Juniper stared through Harlowe dumbly. Harlowe sighed. "Seriously, what's up, I know you, if you wanted one of those guys you'd be hitched already and enjoying the high life. What gives?"

"Didn't realize this was a therapy session," Juniper said, rolling her eyes.

"It isn't, I'm just curious, I won't even offer advice." Harlowe paused, then quickly added, "Well, I might offer advice, but if I do it'll be terrible advice that you aren't going to follow anyways. Consider me a useless brick wall, a confidant."

Juniper laughed. "Why don't I just tell my problems to a real brick wall then?"

Harlowe shrugged. "I don't echo."

"Ha," she replied dryly.

"C'mon, I just wanna know. Tell you what, you fill me in, and I'll cook up some of this stuff into a tea for you, it knocks people right out. You can use it to drug those dudes you're always swindling."

Juniper swatted her on the arm. "I don't drug them."

"No, you let them drug themselves, much better. A strict following of deontological ethics."

Juniper stared through her.

"Seriously," Harlowe whined. "Nothing?"

She had her reasons. Truth was she didn't want to be married off, not out of any logic, or survivalist instinct that she had succumbed to, but rather that last bit of her that hadn't. She still held on to that idea of eventual freedom, to do what she wanted and not worry about consequences, to not live in a world where every action had to be centered around survival. It was a pipe dream, one that she scoffed at others for holding onto, but there was still that tiny bit of her that held onto it. That small bit of desire to live in a world where she could be somebody else, a world that would disappear from her view the moment she signed her life away to somebody else.

Juniper said none of this. All she did was shrug her shoulders. "Nothing."

* * *

**A/N: And there we have Vesa Carlisle and Juniper Lourdes, thank you to the two wonderful submitters for this pair. I had a lot of fun writing this introduction, and am already getting ahead of myself planning out what shenanigans they're going to get into once in the Capitol.**

**Next chapter we journey to District Nine, and hopefully that one will be written before Saturday, so I don't spend the entire day quickly writing in order to get it done on time (whoops). See y'all then.**

**Trivia(1 point): The pre-Games will consist of goodbyes, train rides, chariots, training, interviews, post-interviews, pre-party, party, and "morning" and "night" chapters which are exactly what they sound like, going in between the training chapters. Each tribute will get 2 POVs (and some 3, but more on that later). No promises, but where would you like to see your tribute get their POVs?**

**Trivia(1 point): I forgot to ask this last chapter, so, what is the last chapter's title a reference to? Bonus point if you didn't need to google it lol.**


	8. D11: Echoes

"Echoes"

* * *

**A/N: And we're back. I sat down to try and stockpile a few characters I felt comfortable with while I waited for TTS submissions, and then all of a sudden I only have like 2 intros left, so I guess I might as well post these if they're done.**

**As an aside, there were two tributes (Lane and Beth) that were withdrawn, so I've shuffled some things around. Arkus has been made non-POV and moved to D9, and Ciera has moved to D11. That means that D9F and D6M are technically open, but I'm leaning towards just making them non-POV as well to simplify things. If you're interested in one of the spots though, feel free to PM me to chat about it.**

**Kind of short intros? But yeah, these two got tons of stuff planned out for the pre-games so I don't feel too bad. Plus, I think both of these two work best without revealing every little detail of their life and who they were first.**

**Warning: Marquise's POV skirts along some dark places in relation to homophobia and some other things I won't get into here. Basically just know that D11 in my verse is a very sexist, homophobic, racist place, which has heavy parallels to the pre-civil war South.**

* * *

_~But I believe there's more to life than all my problems, maybe there's still hope for me to start again_

_Get my feet back on the ground_

_Pull my head out of the clouds_

_I think it's time for me to figure me out~_

* * *

**Ciera Ocussia, 18  
**_1 Week ago._

Ciera laid in her bed and watched the ceiling fan as it spun in circles above her. Cracked red eyes struggled to keep up as they followed the blades. Her head pounded in what she couldn't decide was ecstasy or pain. Sweat covered her skin. On the other side of the room, Saffron danced in place as he pulled his pants back up. His mouth was moving, but Ciera couldn't hear a thing.

_Ciera._

_Ciera._

"Ciera!" Her eyes snapped off of the rotating blades and landed on the man standing across the room, looking at her in bemusement. "Like I was saying, your parents are giving me the week off since the reaping is coming up, so I won't be stopping by to tutor you until next Monday."

"Okay," she said.

Saffron took a step forward, eyeing her up. "Are you alright?"

Ciera jumped up onto her feet, a smile crossing her lips as she walked over to him, a bounce in her step. "Of course. I am _tired _though." She winked, running a hand down his chest. "You're a fantastic teacher you know, I hope you have more lessons prepared for our next meeting."

The conversation carried on a bit longer, Ciera only halfway paying attention as she flirted him out the door. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy his company, she did. But between her headache, the strain that her entire body felt, and the overwhelming sense of fatigue that took over her, she wasn't sure how long she could keep up a smile.

She was Ciera Ocussia though, the golden girl, the prodigy, the perfect everything. That image, the way that everyone saw her and treated her as, felt less and less real every day. The previous night she hardly slept, tripping too hard off of something that Ivy had given her to even close her eyes. She spent the night with Narcissa instead, the two of them trading conversations that were all just a haze now, spending it with people whose faces were a blur. Ciera wasn't even entirely sure how she had gotten home.

But sure enough someone had come knocking on her door early in the morning while she laid awake in bed, calling her to get ready. She showered, brushed her teeth, scrubbed at her eyes and threw on makeup, but none of it was enough to make her appear like she was before.

Her parents hadn't said anything at breakfast. They liked to pretend that nothing was changing, that Ciera was still the perfect child she was a year ago. It felt like that facade they were holding up was weaker every day, though. Her mother doted on her less, her father didn't brag as often or as loudly about her to guests, Tanya and Briony were almost vengeful of the praise she still did receive. Only Delilah, still little enough to be oblivious to the world around her, saw her the same as before, idolizing her big sister who was the shining star of the Ocussia family.

Ciera wasn't sure when she fell asleep, or how long she was out before the knock on her door shook her awake. She forced the fatigue out of her voice as she called out a greeting, and told her mother she'd be with the family for dinner as soon as she finished reading the chapter. That bought her enough time to stretch the bags out of her eyes. With the cracks in her eyes gone, and the sweat dried up and covered with the scent of perfume, Ciera allowed herself to feel impressed at how presentable she looked.

By the time she made her way downstairs the rest of her family was already seated. She smiled and quietly took her seat, not allowing her shoulders to slump as she looked at her father and waited for approval.

"Let us eat." He nodded, and Ciera's sisters immediately dug into their food. Ciera took her time dishing herself up, resisting the urge to wolf the food down. "So Ciera, how were your lessons today?"

"They were adequate," she replied calmly. "Saffron and I focused on biology and chemistry." She supposed that wasn't quite a lie.

"Anything in particular?" Her mother asked.

"Saffron introduced me to Endocrinology and in my private studies I read up on the thermodynamic properties of chemical systems. I also continued my work on multivariable calculus, vector-valued functions specifically."

"Seems like you were quite productive," her father said. "Glad to hear somebody around this house is showing some intelligence and dedication to their work."

Ciera glowed at the compliment, and paid no mind to the way Briony and Tanya sunk into their seats beside her. Those pieces of praise were what Ciera thrived on, the assurance that despite everything else she was still the golden child she was expected to be. That she was smart, and pretty, and everything else that she was supposed to be.

"Did you hear about Korus?" Tanya blurted out, the thirteen-year-old finding a burst of confidence as she spoke up.

"Tanya, you will speak when spoken to," their father hissed.

"He got accepted into university in District Three," she continued, staring directly at Ciera now. "That's where you wanted to go, wasn't it? Oh well, maybe you'll get in next year instead. Hopefully there's nobody else that's also smarter than you."

"That is enough insolence out of you, young lady!" Their father erupted, slamming his fist on the table. "I should have half a mind to smack some obedience into you, but I will not let your childish outbursts ruin our family dinner. Poppy," he turned to his wife, and motioned to her. "Go deal with her."

She nodded her head, quickly climbing from her chair and bustling over to Tanya. She offered little resistance as she was dragged away by the arm, seeming almost satisfied with herself.

"You too, Briony, go to your room," he said dismissively.

"But-"

"I did not ask for your opinion on the matter," he said firmly. "Now go, you could use the extra time to study, not that it will do you any good."

Briony left at that, fists clenched as she pushed in her chair and swiftly left the dining room. Ciera kept a neutral expression, not allowing the dig to show. Korus going away to a different district could almost be a good thing. It meant no more running into him and being reminded of what she had lost. Of what he had taken away and crushed.

Three years of her life with him, and she thought that meant something. She thought it meant there were more years to come, that he was something special, and that she was something special to him. It turned out that second part wasn't true, and it was up to Ciera to pick up the pieces of her life that had been shattered while he continued on unfazed. To him she was just one of many, nothing special, nothing unique. And now he was taking the university spot that she had spent so much time dreaming of. The one she had confided in him about, her dream escape from District Eleven and out into a larger, intellectual world. And he had taken that too. And here she still was. An object to be paraded around, a golden statue of a daughter, the shining gem of the Ocussia family, left trapped in her box when she wasn't in use.

"I certainly hope that news doesn't trouble you," her father said, testing the waters as he looked Ciera over.

She had walked the dance before, though, and the words came as easy as the smile that crossed her lips. "Of course not. I'm happy for Korus, he's made his family proud. My place however is here, exactly where you want me to be."

Her father smiled at that, satisfied with himself as he leaned back into his chair. "Good, you always have been good at knowing your place."

Ciera smiled, but for once, the compliment rang hollow. The praise didn't satisfy her, filling the void that nothing else was able to fill. Instead it echoed inside, only emptying her even further than she had been before, so that she felt less like a human, and more like a shell. An empty shell, hollow on the inside, and painted to perfection on the outside so that every little detail matched exactly what they desired.

_You always have been good at knowing your place._

She was empty on the inside. Maybe that was why the words kept on echoing.

**Marquise Clifton, 18  
**_1 week ago._

All life has value.

Those words, that simple philosophy, was all that Marquise Clifton had. The sun was hot, beating down on him. Sweat soaked his dark hair while the heat baked his face. Narrow eyes squinted ahead as he trudged through the empty street. His feet burned as they pressed against the gravel with every step. Blood trickled down the back of his neck. When he brought a hand up to the back of his head, it came back soaked a deep red.

Still he pressed forward. Because there was no other way. No other direction to go, no path or purpose other than the one he was on now, aimlessly wandering down a road he had never before traveled down.

Settling down in one place never did him any favors. It certainly didn't help the people around him. The ones he loved or the ones he had hated, all of them had suffered.

He stopped for a moment, kneeling down to the ground and pulling out his waterskin. It was nearly empty, and he drained the rest of it, left unsatisfied as he strapped it back against his waist. Coins jingled loosely in his pouch as he stood back up.

While wandering aimlessly was nothing new for Marquise, it was rare he could call himself lost in the way he was at that moment. A dozen miles back was a town that he couldn't return to, and ahead lay nothing but open road, he wasn't quite sure it even led anywhere at all. He hoped that wasn't the case. Dying of dehydration in the middle of nowhere, left to rot in the scorching summer sun, would be a waste.

His feet ached though, and his throat burned, so he decided to take a new course of action. A lone tree stood in the barren deadlands, and he found refuge under its shade. He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and focused his thoughts.

The lingering regret and self-loathing from his previous life were always the first emotions to come. Those had become easy to push aside, like swatting at a mosquito. Automatic. Fresher scars proved to be more difficult.

The emotions that came with that most recent scar weren't entirely negative. Above everything else, it was love that tugged at his heart. And from that stemmed regret and pain and hurt, but it all came from that same source. Omére dominated his thoughts. The feeling of his hands brushing through his hair, gentle prickles against his fingers with every stroke. His easy smile. His lips, pressed against his own, their own secret sin. The comfort that came as the world slipped away, wrapped in his grasp. The pain when the world came back into view. The rope around his neck as he slipped to the edge of death before being released. Watching the whip crack against that smooth skin he had lost himself in just moments before. The sting of rocks and insults being hurled his way. His feet burning against the pavement as he kept his head down and walked on. Away from the life he thought he had found.

It was his own fault, he was sure of that. He hadn't balanced his karma, not even close to it. He wondered sometimes how many lives were on his hands. Counting was impossible, and did him no good, but still he sometimes tried. Aledia was always the first. Célésie and Lurita, for all their faults, came right after. It was too long ago to remember how many had died from his hands, if any, but the thirty-seven that were strung up by Peacekeepers always sounded out in his thoughts. He wondered how many of their families had suffered or perished. How long of a chain of suffering had he created? If a good deed could grow like a wildflower, a bad one grew like a weed. Strangling, suffocating, and stubborn, finding room to flourish wherever ignored.

Eventually he was able to contain his thoughts, and with great effort, pushed them aside. No counting, no recalling, no questioning. His mind was empty, a desirable state of calm taking Marquise over as he focused on his breathing, the way his blood flowed from his heart and out to his finger tips with every beat.

He lost track of time, seconds phasing into minutes and those minutes accumulating into hours. The sun rose higher into the sky, and then began its descent. A soft breeze started up and sent dirt kicking up into the air. A wagon kicked up dust, hooves galloping against the dry ground as the wheels spun with ferocity.

Marquise's eyes flickered open, his gaze fluttering to the approaching wagon. It was small, led by two horses that were being hurried along at a breakneck pace. In the carriage a young man had hold of the reigns, a fearful look carved into his face. Next to him a boy a few years his junior bit fiercely on a piece of leather, while bloodied hands gripped onto his shoulder.

Marquise rose to his feet as the wagon screeched to a halt in front of him, a cloud of dirt coating him in dust.

The man began speaking before Marquise could see him, his voice rapid and panicked. "Please, sir, you have to help us."

Marquise said nothing. He reached into his pouch and began digging around, plucking out a few items and placing them into his open palm.

"Some bandits," the younger boy panted, spitting the piece of leather out of mouth. He winced with every syllable. "They jumped me and my brother here, told us to hand over everything we had. We did what they asked, then they shot at us anyways."

The older boy spat. "Damn roads aren't safe travelling anymore. You'd do best to turn around, friend."

"I'll make do," Marquise said in a calming voice. He reached up and placed a handful of plants into the older boy's hands. "This will quiet the pain. Use this to staunch the flow of blood. A few miles ahead is a town, they have a healer there by the name of Esther." He reached into his sac and pulled out a few golden coins. "This should be enough to acquire her services."

The young man stared at the coins in disbelief.

"The bandits were how far along the road?" Marquise asked.

"A couple miles," he said hesitantly. He quickly shoved the coins into his pocket and began administering the herbs to his brother. "We have room in the carriage if you need a ride into town, friend. Like I said, these roads aren't safe to travel no more, certainly not by foot."

"You're kind to offer, but I'm headed in the opposite direction." Marquise reached his hand up, and grasped the young man by the forearm. "Safe journeys, friend."

"Safe journeys." The man nodded.

He kicked the horses into action, and the wagon continued down the road, another wave of dust clouding the road. Marquise turned away from the quickly retreating strangers, and followed the trail.

It took him about half an hour to stumble across what he immediately recognized as the bandits. There were four of them, an older man with dark features and farmhand's clothes, two similarly dressed younger men he figured to be his sons, and a woman with light skin and blonde hair who covered her face with a bandana. A pistol was holstered by the woman's side, the two younger men hid daggers in their boots, and the older man had a thin sword strapped across his back.

Tall wheat fields surrounded the road to either side, making for an easy escape or ambush. The man with the sword stepped forward to meet Marquise as he approached. The two younger men seemed to not even notice him, while the woman kept her hand on the holster of her pistol, blue eyes piercing him.

"Well hello there," the man said with a front of amiability. The suspicion was hardly veiled. "Don't see many travelling down this road by foot. It's dangerous country, young man."

"So I've heard," he replied calmly. "You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you? I've run out."

The man looked at him for a long moment in thoughtful debate. Finally, he nodded. "Samyr," he yelled. "Fetch us some water!"

One of the boys grumbled as he began to dig around in a bag for a flask. While he did that, the older man continued looking Marquise over with suspicion and curiosity.

"Whatcha got there?" He asked, motioning to the pouch strapped to Marquise's side.

He shrugged, and unclipped the pouch, tossing it to the man. "A few herbs, some coins. You're welcome to whatever you need."

The man eyed him suspiciously. "And what if I were to say I need it all?"

There was a long pause. "Well then," Marquise finally said. "I suppose I would need to find a new pouch. I am quite fond of that one, though."

The man almost smiled at that. He yanked the water flask from Samyr when he came, and then quickly shooed him away. "You seem awfully fine parting with your belongings," he said casually. He tossed the flask over to Marquise, who caught it deftly.

Marquise took a few healthy gulps, stopping himself short of finishing the entire flask. He wiped the water away from his mouth with his sleeve and shrugged. "If you have more need of something than I do, I see no reason to hold onto it."

"That's an interesting philosophy," the man said, flipping through the pouch and pulling the coins out.

"Aikido."

"Is that it?" He said, only half-paying attention as his focus shifted to the gold.

"Yes," Marquise said. "It's rather straightforward, really. It's the simple belief that all life, no matter how small or large, has value."

"Really?" The man wasn't listening at all anymore.

Marquise nodded his head, and switched his glance to the woman with the pistol. "Yes," he said, his voice low. "Which is why it worries me when I see bandits running around, shooting a boy and leaving him for dead."

The man dropped the pouch, his eyes flickering up and meeting Marquise's hard gaze. "What was that?" He asked, any pretenses of amiability dropped.

"You need to leave," Marquise said. "Head down this road and don't turn back, and don't be bothering any of the folk in the town up ahead."

The man whistled, and the woman drew her pistol, training it on Marquise. The man smiled unkindly. "I'm sorry, I consider you reassess your situation."

Marquise didn't so much as blink, his voice eerily calm as he spoke. "I consider you to do the same. I just ran into a few boys travelling in a wagon to that town a few miles down the road there. And when word gets out that _Marquise Clifton _headed on foot down a road with a trigger-happy gang of bandits, it won't be long before people come following after." That was a bluff, but the Clifton name carried enough weight to loosen the woman's grip on her pistol, and bring a damper on the man's confidence.

He paused to take another swig of water, and no interjection was offered, so Marquise continued. "And when they find me shot dead, left in the middle of the road, well, it won't take them very long to find the four plantation runaways who did it. Trust me, wheat fields won't do you a lick of good once the dogs come out." That was another bluff, there was nothing to get their scent, and the heat was far too brutal for search dogs to be out for long. They certainly wouldn't be wasted on four measly bandits. The plantation runaway bit landed with its intended effect, however, and so Marquise pressed on.

"If you're lucky, they'll only string you up. From what I've seen though, the Peacekeepers have been in a sour mood, the crowds too. They'll like to make a show of it." That was no lie, the burn marks on his neck and the dry blood on the back of his head a testament to that. "Alternatively, we can all leave here happy. I'll walk on down this road, and you lot will take my coins and go buy yourself a plot of land from that town just down the road where you won't have to bother a soul."

The silence was deafening, the man waging an internal war while Marquise stood calmly, already sure of the outcome. The man scooped the pouch up from the ground and stuffed it into his pocket. He whistled in a low pitch, and waved his arm, brushing by Marquise. The two boys quickly followed after with their heads held low. The woman stared him down as she walked by, her hand not moving from the holster. Something about her was familiar, he realized as she came close. But before he could pinpoint it she was past him, and all he could see was her long blonde hair coated in dirt.

Before they were out of earshot, Marquise called out to them. "If I hear any more stories of bandits around here, try to remember, I never forget a face."

The man was the only one to turn around, and he spat in Marquise's direction. "Anything else I can help you with?" He asked dryly.

"One more thing, actually." He glanced up the long, straight road that seemed to lead to nowhere at all. "What's the next town up ahead on this road?"

The man blew air from his nose and spat again. "Ain't no town. It's the District Center."

The man turned and walked away at that, leaving Marquise with no room for any further questions. Marquise looked ahead, and stopped to think for a moment. A minute passed. He took one last swig of water, then slid the flask onto his belt, and continued down the dirt road.

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**A/N: And there's D11! Thank you so much to VR and Micah for Ciera and Marquise. Both of them are incredibly complex characters who are really interesting to write, because their emotional arc actually started about a year or two before the Games. It made writing these intros an interesting challenge, and has me excited to reveal more about them as we go along. I also had fun getting to write a Samurai/Western sort of genre fusion thing in the middle of a Hunger Games story, so thank you Micah for that XD**

**And of course a big thank you to everyone who's stuck with me, and this story, through everything. Y'all are real ones.**

**Trivia(1 point): Since we've now reached our halfway point, I've put up a poll on my profile that I'd love for you all to go vote on! I'll just go by honor system and assume everyone who's reviewing has done this, so free point for y'all XD**

**Trivia(1 point): Another honor code/freebie to those of you who have been kind enough to stick around despite the delay. Just go and skim through the names and faceclaims on the blog, or re-read your reviews or something to remind yourself about the tributes that have already been introduced.**


	9. 12:Don't let the bastards grind you down

"Don't let the bastards grind you down"

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**A/N: ****Note: I'm at a point where I'm gonna stop worrying about POV amounts and lengths and just focus on showing what I think is important to show. Some characters will have longer intros just because they have more backstory that I need to reveal right away, while others have little backstory, or a backstory I want to keep hidden for now. That means some uneven word counts in the rest of the intros, but w/e.**

* * *

_~Mama said_

_Burn your biographies_

_Rewrite your history_

_Light up your wildest dreams~_

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**Denver Lyon, 18  
**_9 Months ago._

He was still waiting to wake up. Everything was surreal. Two days ago he was in District Twelve still, with its smoggy air, crumbling sheds, and the constant sound of a buzzing electric fence filling an otherwise silent void. He stood at the train tracks, and right then and there he could have turned away and stayed. It was all in his hands, the choice to run back to the safety of home and throw away this pipe dream. And now here he was.

The Capitol was even brighter than he could have imagined. He didn't get into the city until late at night, but even then the city seemed wide awake. Red, blue, green, purple, and every other imaginable color lit up the skyline as every building flashed and blinked, demanding attention. It was like a neon wasteland, where even higher in the sky apartment buildings were dotted with a pattern of dim yellow lights and pitch darkness. Cars sped down the roads that were even and freshly painted, unlike the pothole-ridden gravel trails of District Twelve. People walked down the streets, looking every bit as much the caricatures that they appeared on television.

And then he got to the school, and it was another world entirely. Pioneer University was massive, probably the size of District Twelve itself, with brick buildings popping up in seemingly random places along the stretch of land. Neatly paved sidewalks curved through gardens filled to the brim with wildflowers, bushes, and trees that covered the area in shade. At night the square lanterns shone brightly from their hanging place on various tree branches, dimly illuminating the university in a cozy glow.

The Peacekeepers escorting him hurried him along, and if they hadn't he could have spent hours walking the winding paths, just breathing in the feeling of fresh air and taking in the wonder of it all. All too soon he was taken inside one of the older buildings, but his wonder flickered only momentarily, before being brought back to life as he took in his new home's interior.

He barely had time to take in the grandiose marble statues, stained glass, and chandeliers as he was quickly hustled into a staircase. They climbed to the third floor, tossed down the single duffel bag worth of belongings he had thought worth taking, informed him it was his residence, and like that he was left alone.

His hand lingered at the doorknob as his eyes scanned the hallway. There were only three other doors on the floor, a large common area taking up most of the floor space. They had told him he was the last one to arrive, District Twelve being so far away and all. Behind each of those other doors another kid like him was experiencing their life behind flipped, turned on its head in a moment. He wondered if they all felt the same sense of not belonging as they did.

Twenty-five. That was all. All the thousands and thousands of students throughout the twelve districts, and only twenty-five of them were accepted to take up residence in the Capitol for the very first year of the program. He was lucky, in District Twelve there was hardly much competition, what was it like in say, District Eight? He figured the kid from there must be a genius, that they all must be. And then there was him, the lazy slacker who managed to put in a month worth of hard work studying for a test, and just like that he was there. The pressure weighed on his shoulders, kept his hand frozen in place on the handle, not wanting the high hopes the day had given him to come crashing down when he stepped in and met his roommate.

The door opened. Denver leapt back, quickly stumbling to the ground and picking up his duffel bag and holding it tight to his chest. He struggled to get a grip, and his arms became trapped in the loops of the handle, his hands tied together as he squirmed and attempted to drop it back to the ground.

And that was how he found himself as his roommate swung open the door and peered out at him. The boy was dressed in simple slacks and a red flannel, and wore an unfazed expression as he nodded his head upwards.

"Denver, right?" He asked casually. Without waiting for a response, he stepped aside from the door and ushered him in. "You walk here or something?"

"N-n-n-no. Of c… c-ourse n-n-not," he said. He kept his head down as he walked into the small dorm room and threw his duffel bag down on the empty bed. "I mean, my n-n-n-ame is Denver, b-b-b… I didn't w… w-alk here."

"Right," Bo said, an odd look on his face as he seemed to be deep in thought. "Tell you what, you ever been to a party back in Twelve?"

Denver hesitated, unsure how to answer. His cheeks flushed red and he could already feel himself messing everything up. A chance at a fresh start and his roommate already thought he was a loser. He shook his head.

"Yeah, not too many parties back in Ten either. And considering the whole 'spotless disciplinary record' thing I don't think we'll be seeing many party animals here." Bo went back into thought, and then reached forward, slapping Denver on the shoulder and giving him a smirk. "But still, zero parties? We've gotta change that." He stepped away, slipping on a jacket as he kicked open the door. "Come on."

"Wh. . . wh-ere are. . . ."

"Belle, the other D10 kid that got accepted into the Uni is throwing some party, thinks it would be cool for all the district kids to hang out and meet each other. I tend to try avoiding her whenever possible, but anything for my roomie, huh?" He gave him another pat on the shoulder and flashed him a smile.

"I don't kn-know," he said, feeling a queasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't want his roommate doing something he didn't want to just because he felt bad for Denver. Besides, all twenty-five kids in one room? All of them would see how out of place he was in an instant. He wasn't smart, or cool, or funny, he was just lucky.

"Don't sweat it, it's nothing, everyone is cool," Bo said casually as he led him down the staircases. "Our suitemates are already there, Taylor and Jason, from Eleven and Nine, chill dudes, you'll like them. I'll introduce you to a few people that I met earlier, get a few beers in you if you so desire, then if you're not feeling it we can head back and crash. Taylor was trying to get a suitemate game of Squares going later tonight if you like playing cards."

"I j-j-just don't really talk w. . . w. . . to p-p-p-people th. . . th-at o-o-often. Wh-what if everyone th. . . thinks. . . ." he trailed off, not sure where he was going and not wanting to share it anyways. He felt stupid, spilling out his guts to someone he had just met. It wasn't Bo's problem, he wanted to just go hang out with friends and here Denver was dragging him down and ruining everything. He could just pretend to be sick, that way Bo wouldn't have to feel bad about leaving him behind and could go enjoy himself without having to worry about some loser following him around.

Bo grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks both physically and mentally. He squared up in front of him and looked him in the eye, a serious look shaping his features. "Hey, man, you're good. Look around," he said, motioning to the rest of the room. Denver looked around, and took in the grandeur he had been forced to race past earlier without a proper look. It was like he was in a dream, he didn't believe that things so amazing existed in the world. Living in District Twelve, anything more than brick, concrete, and coal dust seemed out of reach. And here he was, standing under a glass chandelier that sparkled and reflected stray particles lights that darted across the room. "Whatever your problems were in District Twelve, whoever you think you were back there, just forget it. You're in the Capitol now," Bo said, a short breath of laughter escaping him as he looked around the room for himself. "I think we're gonna be just fine."

**Sparrow Kalani, 12  
**_2 Days ago._

The house was too loud for her to think. Flint and Reed were chasing each other around the dining room, Amethyst was loudly arguing about something with their dad, Tabby and Remy practically shouted jokes at each other from across the table, and all that while Glenn and Grove wouldn't stop crying no matter how much their step-mom tried to coax them with food and milk. Sparrow couldn't handle it.

Nobody seemed to notice when she slipped away. They rarely did. She was invisible, a ghost that walked through life, not leaving a trace. That's how the world had seemed since her mom died. Like she was gone too. The only reminders were those brief moments when someone would call her name, snap at her and ask her to pay attention, to pull her head out of the clouds. She could never understand why someone would say that like it was a bad thing, wouldn't anyone much prefer to watch the world from up there? Especially with how crummy things were on the ground.

She couldn't do anything about it though, just one more thing to chalk up on the list of stuff Sparrow would never understand. It felt like everyone understood things that were mysteries to her. Mr. Wren told her she saw the world in her own special way, and that it wasn't better or worse, just different. And that people would always struggle with different, because they couldn't understand it. She liked to think that wasn't true.

Looking up at the sky, she wished there were clouds up there that she could hide in. As it stood there were none, unless you counted the clouds of smoke that flowed from the coal plants. Beyond the thick, grey haze it was hard to see anything at all. It was just a smoggy, blurry filter that the sun was barely able to poke out of. On a good day a few dots of blue would even appear, and it would almost look like there really was a sky up there. It wasn't one of those days.

Her usual seat was empty, something she took a small bit of joy in. There was no telling how the old wooden stump had ended up by the side of the road down at the Town Center, but she had claimed it as her own anyways. It was her little spot, a small bit of the world that she could claim as her own, and nobody else's. Sometimes she would just sit and watch people. Other times she would bring a coin or a few cups, or if she was really lucky a handful of playing cards, and she would fiddle with them. There wasn't any audience, or stakes or bets, it was just a way for her to fiddle with her hands while her mind would wander. Once a man had passed by and told her she was quite good. She didn't know what it was she had done, but accepted the compliment anyways, and smiled and thanked him.

Today she was more focused, though. Mrs. Wren had lended Sparrow her favorite book. The school librarian had made her promise to take extra care of it, and Sparrow made a half-dozen different swears to do exactly that. She had finished reading through the tiny school library a while ago, and so now Mrs. Wren would entrust her with books that she had been passed down from her grandmother. According to her the books were ancient, not banned per se, but not something that the Capitol would be reprinting and distributing. Sparrow liked reading those books most of all, it almost felt like her own small act of rebellion.

She was halfway through the book, and she was enthralled in it. Sitting under the smoggy sky on her wooden bench, the world around her seemed to fade away every time she cracked open the cover and flipped through the soft, wrinkled paper pages. The worlds weren't always better, the one in this book certainly wasn't, but it was something different, and that was enough. It was something brilliant and terrifying and wonderful, while everything in her life just was. All around her were the same grey skies, coal dust, and crumbling houses. Being able to place herself somewhere else gave her hope that maybe she could eventually escape this place for good.

People walked by her, seemingly not noticing the young girl sitting, legs folded on a wooden stump with a dusty old book held close to her face. That dim view of the sky became brighter as dawn turned into morning, and the traffic around her picked up as she thumbed her way closer to the ending. A loud bell chimed from nearby, and she finished the page before neatly folding the book closed and setting it in her bag. She slipped the bag over her shoulders, stood up, and began her walk to school.

The book was ripe with ideas that begged to be thought about. There were characters who showed strength even in silence, warnings that were ignored and horrors that had already come to pass, and a million other things that pulled at her. But none of them found her way into her thoughts. Four words bounced around in her head.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. She didn't even know what it meant, but still they resonated with her, distracting her and pulling her back in every time she tried to think of something else. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. Words of silent rebellion carved into the wall of a closet, mysterious and indecipherable. Final words from someone who had taken too much, and had finally given up. Or maybe not give up, maybe it was the opposite of that. It all swirled around in her head, confusing her and dragging her away from her simple escape and back into her own life.

By the time she reached school she had already exhausted herself, and she attempted to shake away the thoughts. Mrs. Wren could explain it to her, she decided. Still though, she felt frustrated. It was rare that something slipped past her. Books were the one place where Sparrow felt like she was never confused, never falling asleep and missing things that were obvious to others. It was the place where she would spot things that others couldn't, patterns and themes and messages hidden beneath the surface.

She was in a decidedly sour mood by the time she slipped into her seat in the back row of Mr. Wren's classroom. He noticed, but kept the observation to himself, continuing to chat with a few talkative students in the front rows. Sparrow felt a little bit bad that she zoned out for his lecture, and at least pulled out a notebook to make it appear she was writing things down. By the end of class she had six pages filled to the brim with doodles, mostly just circles and loops that she scrawled down without looking down at her pencil.

When the bell rang, Sparrow lingered in her seat, slowly packing up her things so that she was the last one to leave the room. Mr. Wren raised an eyebrow at her, patting the chair across from his desk as he took a seat.

"What's up, Sparrow?" He asked, genuine concern in his voice. "You look like you're out of it. Are you feeling okay?"

She shrugged.

He sighed. "Come on, let me help out. I don't have a class second period and I'm dying of boredom here. I'll write you a note for your next class, tell them that you had to stay late to discuss a homework assignment." He began scrawling a note onto a piece of paper, then slid it across the table.

"It's just this book, there's something in it that doesn't make any sense," she said slowly. Her voice was calm and deliberate, with a countable pause between every word that had a tendency to drive most people mad with impatience. Sparrow was grateful that Mr. Wren pretended not to mind.

"Well, I wouldn't be much of an English teacher if I couldn't help," he said, flashing a smile. "Go ahead, shoot." He kicked his legs up onto his desk.

"There's these words that I can't understand," she said begrudgingly. "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum."

He looked at her bemusedly. "Well, it isn't English, I can tell you that much." He went quiet for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It was nolite te bastardes. . ."

"Carborundum."

". . . carborundorum," he affirmed. "Right. Well, no, I'm not sure. Sounds Latin, maybe?"

"Latin?" She inquired.

"A dead language. Doubt you could find a person in all of District Twelve who speaks it." He shrugged. "Though, knowing my wife, I wouldn't be half-surprised if she happened to be fluent."

"Thank you, Mr. Wren," she said. She turned to walk away but only took one step before Mr. Wren called out to her.

"Sparrow." She turned back to him, and his smile was gone, and he looked worried again. "I just, if there's anything else you want to talk about, just know you can talk to me. I know that today can be a tough day. . . ."

He trailed off, and Sparrow stood with her feet frozen to the ground. She clutched tightly to the gray jacket that loosely hung from her shoulders. It had been three years to the day, and she hadn't forgotten. She never forgot. As strange as it was, she didn't think she wanted to. That day, watching them put her to rest in the ground, her eyes dry while the rest of her family sobbed around her, was imprinted in her memory for eternity, like a mark of ink on paper. Or words carved into the floor of a closet.

"Thank you again." she finally said, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow Mr. Wren."

And with that, she turned and walked away, more thoughts left floating unanswered in her head.

**Denver Lyon, 18  
**_2 Days ago._

"Wh-wh-what's th-the p-p-point of c. . .c-alculus anyways?" Denver scratched his head as he flipped through his textbook.

Joana rolled his eyes and took the book from him, quickly turning to a page and placing it back in his lap. "It's only critical to understanding just about every scientific field in existence."

"Yeah, b-but I'm n-n-not a scientist." Denver lowered his head, resting his chin on his palm as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "C-c-can w. . . w-e do something more interesting?"

"No, you are not failing this class and leaving me alone in 205. You promised me, you said-" she puffed up her chest, and in an overly deep voice said, "Joana, me and you, we're gonna finish off this minor in math, even if- I mean when- it kills us."

"Th-there's no p-p-proof of th. . . th-at," he retorted.

She raised an eye at him. He copied her, then began widening and closing his eyes as he attempted and failed to wiggle his eyebrows. She stared him down for a full ten seconds before she gave in.

"Ugh," she said, begrudgingly slamming her book shut. Denver excitedly followed suit, a bright smile plastering his face. "It's not fair, you're like a puppy, you're too cute. Fine, I have an hour to kill before my psych exam, let's go grab some lunch."

"Awesome, I am starving," he said dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah. So I hear you got a big night planned out for yourself, huh mr. popular?" She nudged him on the shoulder and gave him a teasing smirk.

"Wh-wh-what c-c-can I say? Everyone loves me." He yawned, and mockingly began to flex before she swatted his arms down.

"Yeah, you're a real catch." She snorted. "So what are your plans?"

He shrugged. "K-Kelly w. . . w-ants to have a p-p-p-picnic, and B-B-Bo, Taylor, and Jason g-g-got some awful movies for us to b. . . b-inge w-w-watch after. Last one to fall asleep or g-g-give up w. . . w-ins."

"Picnic sounds cute. Bad movies sounds dumb. You got a fifth seat?"

Denver laughed. Jason would strongly object, saying it was meant for roommates only, but Denver would just tell him to screw off. "Yeah, of c-c-course. Stop b-b-by around eleven. Kn-knowing the rest of th-th-them it w. . . w-on't take long."

"Knowing me and you, we'll wrap up a few minutes before our Calc exam tomorrow." She laughed.

"Oh right," he said, laughing. "th-that."

"Twelve-O'clock at DuPont hall." He opened his mouth to speak. "And no, you can't copy off of me."

He blew a raspberry. "Lame."

"Just too cool for your imagination." The two went quiet for a moment as they fished out their dining cards and swiped themselves into the cafeteria. "So how long have you been with Kelly now, then?"

"Wh-when w. . . w-as th-th-the first day of school again?" He asked. "Ten years ago?"

Joana snorted. "Feels like it sometimes. Kinda hard to believe it's over after tomorrow." She went quiet for a moment, lost in her thoughts for a moment as she seemed to struggle with something. After a while she pushed it away, looking back up to him and smiling as she patted him on the shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you Denvy. Who else is gonna help me dump eels in Taylor's shower? Or go sledding down Taurus Hill in a cardboard box? It's gonna be a long summer."

"It'll b-be a long summer, b-b-but you w. . . w-on't be missing me for long," he said, unable to hide the smirk that fought into his lips.

She gave him a quizzical look.

Denver waited until they were both seated at a booth with their trays set down. Joana looked at him expectantly, and he smiled, leaning forward as he delivered the news. "I g-g-got accepted for summer school."

Joana's mouth dropped. She brought up two fingers to push up her jaw back into place, then said in a low, deep voice, "No. Way."

"Yes, w-w-way." Denver giggled.

"How? I thought that the district kids had to go back home for the summer," she said, her voice speeding up in the way it always did when she got excited.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I talked w. . . w-ith p-p-professor C-crane. He w-w-was so impressed w. . . w-ith my p-p-p-projects in Molecular Mycology th-that he o-offered me an internship w. . . w-orking w-w-with him."

"In the Hunger Games?" She looked equal parts impressed, confused, and worried.

He nodded his head, not giving any hints at his thoughts about it. He tried to not think of it at all, really. It was a way to not have to go back home to District Twelve for the summer, so how could he say no? He wasn't welcome back there, and he didn't want to go back anyways. If the cost of that was spending a summer in a lab that was probably only vaguely related to the actual Games themselves, so be it. He consoled himself by telling himself that he was most likely just going to be helping fill the arena with plants, hardly anything harmful.

"He's the lead g-g-gamemaker for n-n-nature design," Denver replied. "He said it's something to do w-w-with a complex, mutated strain of a fungi. C-c-cordyceps or something."

"They're letting you stay on campus then?" She asked.

"N-n-no," he said. "And b-besides, it's too far from The G-games center. I need to find a host family, p-p-preferably one c-c-close to downtown. . . ."

Joana's reservations dropped, a wide smile spreading across her lips. "I can think of a place," she said giddily.

Before she got the chance to say anything else, Kelly dropped in, dramatically placing her tray on the table and scooting close up to Denver. "Hey handsome, how do I look?" She asked, standing up again and doing a spin before falling back into her seat.

"You look g…g… really pretty," he settled for.

She smiled.

He laughed.

"Well, I have an exam to get to," Joana said suddenly, grabbing her half-empty tray and standing up. "You lovebird have fun. I'll see you later tonight, Denver." She smiled sadly, looking between the two of them. "I'm gonna miss you lot while you're gone.

Denver blew a raspberry. "You'll hardly miss me. I'll only b-be in Twelve for th-the reaping." He flashed a wide, toothy smile. "B-b-by th-the end of the day I'll b-be on a train and headed for the C-c-capitol again."

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**A/N: And there's our tragically doomed D12 donuts. I have a lot of fun plans for these two cinnamon rolls, and I hope you liked our first look at them.**

**Trivia(1 point): What book was Sparrow reading? (bonus point if you didn't google to find out lol)**

**Trivia(5 points): I left a bit of an easter egg/hint in this chapter that relates to the latest chapter of TTS. If anyone can decode that and figure out what it means kudos to you.**


	10. D10,D6: Nightmares and Daydreams

"Nightmares and Daydreams"

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**A/N: As per request of the submitter, Jamie doesn't have an intro, so y'all will have to wait 'til (checks notes) the night of the third day of training to see his first POV. Huh, that's a while away actually. Anyways, since that's a thing I decided I might as well also put Earheart in this chapter too b/c her partner doesn't have any POVs.**

**I know intros are getting progressively shorter, which, eh. Between this and TTS I've written so many intros recently that I'm running a bit low on ideas lol. Everything will balance out by the end of the pre-games though.**

**Warning: Dark themes in Persephone's POV. This isn't rated R so I don't get explicit, but it's pretty defining of her character so it's definitely there.**

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_~Let's take these issues_

_Step by step by step, to work it out_

_Day by day by day we're falling down_

_But life goes on~_

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**Persephone Saskia, 16  
**_The Morning of the Reaping._

Persephone hated crowds. She had gotten up as early as possible and finished all her chores to avoid being crammed in the middle of a never-ending line, but it seemed like her efforts were for nothing. It didn't matter that she had avoided any sort of line, she was still trapped in the pen, slowly creeping closer to the wall to avoid the crowd of people filling in.

Petunia was still one year away from reaping age, and so the one person that could have calmed her down was still back at the orphanage, crowded around the communal television. So she was at the reaping alone, watching as families and friends all held each other and gave comfort. Mothers and fathers waited outside the roped sections for their kids, while friends hugged and moved in a pack through the pen.

Everything seemed even grimmer than usual. Up on stage a new escort stood and talked to the mayor. She had bright red, fluffy hair that she wore in a bun, wore a dress covered in emeralds, and had green eyes that seemed to glow an eerie neon color in the sunlight. The chair where Kyle Braddock usually sat as the lone District Ten victor was now empty, and it seemed to be affecting the district, a strange discomfort spreading throughout the crowd.

Persephone couldn't be bothered to notice. To her all she could pay attention to were those families, still held together, crying for fear that their temporary separation would become permanent.

Unwanted memories came to her.

The night where everything was torn apart. Where they had taken everything away from her. The Peacekeepers who took her life from her were all around, boxing them in, watching them. She wondered if one of them was the one that pulled the trigger and ended her parents' lives. Every time she saw a particularly large Peacekeeper her breath caught in her throat as even worse nightmares from that night threatened to play again in her mind.

But not those. She shoved those thoughts, those images, those feelings away. Whatever they had injected her with afterwards made her forget nearly everything, but it wasn't enough. There were still those lingering sensations, those flashes of fear. They stuck with her, not just when she thought of that night, but always.

How could it ever leave her? She lost more than just her family that night. She lost who she was. Her friends all abandoned her when happy, cheerful Persephone stopped being able to put up a smile, and couldn't bring herself to laugh at jokes that she didn't find joy in. She didn't feel comfortable in her own skin anymore. Everything brought back those flashes of that night, and even worse, every little thing had her mind reeling as she feared it would happen again.

She didn't feel like she could do anything right anymore. But that couldn't, wouldn't stop her from fighting. It didn't matter how badly she screwed everything up, she would still fight to prove that there were still things she could do, even on her own. Even as broken as she was.

"Hello, hello, hello!" The escort sang into the mic, giggling as she gave it a tap. "Welcome one and all, to the reaping for the one-hundred and second Hunger Games!" She threw her arms into the air, waiting for applause that nobody was willing to give. Confusion might have described her reaction, but certainly not shame, and so she continued on with unaltered enthusiasm. "Now, please welcome your mayor as he reads from the Treaty of Treason!"

The mayor stumbled onto stage. Beside Persephone, someone tried to squeeze their way through the crowd. A boy got bumped out of the way and collided with Persephone, grabbing her by the shoulder to avoid tripping.

"Don't touch me!" The scream came out involuntarily, panic rising in her chest as she shoved away from the boy.

The crowd was silent, and Persephone could feel the district's eyes on her. She tugged on her hoodie, covering her face and burying her arms into her sweatshirt pockets as her eyes fell to the floor. Her face flushed red as she waited for the moment to pass.

Luckily the mayor seemed unfazed by the interruption, continuing on without delay as he dully read through the treaty. Within time, everyone's eyes fell off of Persephone and back onto the stage, all too caught up in their own worries to pay attention to someone else. The boy muttered an apology and scooted away from her. She took solace in at least having everyone keeping a comfortable distance from her after the outburst. It didn't help her as much as she wished it would.

She hated the way that fear dominated her life, but she couldn't help it. It wasn't a choice, it was an instinct, fight or flight kicking back into gear and leaving her unsure how to respond.

The mayor wrapped up the memorized speech and handed the microphone back to the escort, whom he introduced as Sienna Mattick.

"Agh! This is exciting!" She exclaimed. "Are you all excited, because I'm excited." She again got no reaction. "Anyways, let's go ahead and figure out who the marvelously lucky lady is that will be selected to represent her district!"

Sienna went to the bowl, and Persephone realized that she wasn't the least bit scared. The event that had struck so much fear in her as a child didn't faze her in the least. She was a single slip of paper away from sure death, and she didn't care. The fact that even that thought didn't worry her brought a chill to her bones.

She looked at all the people around her. Every single person looked terrified, breathing heavily, squeezing a friend's hand, biting their nails, hugging themselves. . . it seemed like she was the only one who couldn't be brought to care.

Why should she? They were all scared because they had something to lose. Friends, family, a sense of self and a larger purpose. What was it she even wanted? She struggled to find an answer to that question. To prove to people that she could still do something worthwhile, she supposed. Who those 'people' were and what 'worthwhile' was she didn't seem to know.

The escort grabbed a slip, and began her walk over to the microphone. Persephone felt a tug in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was a call to the void or a heroic impulse, but she felt it regardless. A chance to do something that mattered, that intangible worthwhile action that could prove that she still had purpose. That could prove that her fear didn't dominate her. After all, what else could possibly be more fearless.

She felt herself inching forward, a lump in her throat as she found herself standing tall. She was ready to take control. To do something by her own accord, rather than just continue to live a life where she was dragged along with someone else at the controls.

"And the first tribute to represent District Ten in the one-hundred and second Hunger Games is. . ." she paused for dramatic effect, looking over the audience with a childish giddy. While everyone else held in their breath, Persephone built up the words she needed to say within her. She stood as tall as she could allow herself, and prepared for her moment.

"Persephone Saskia."

The words froze in her mouth. She felt herself sink back down as the eyes seemed to return to her.

"Oh," she said.

**Earhart Robertson, 15  
**_1 Day ago._

The Robertson house was alive. Earhart's parents were forced to stay late at work due to the looming reaping, but the house felt anything but empty. Chaos was in full swing, as each of the Robertson siblings found their own distraction from the worries of tomorrow.

Earhart was lying on the couch, their eyes resting half-open as they found their thoughts leaving their body behind. They jumped from tangent to tangent, image to image, floating through different worlds. There was no discernible pattern to the way their mind fluttered, and each thought and imagination was forgotten as soon as it was thought of. There were no worrying thoughts, no stress or deep thought. They were content, and that was all. The reaping tomorrow wasn't so much as a flicker in their imagination.

"Ugh, this never is- hey, Earhart! Mind helping me out with something?" Twelve-year-old Theaden slid into the living room, pushing up on the frame of his glasses.

Earhart smiled brightly. "Of course!" They needed no further explanation, following their little brother as they wove through the narrow halls of their cramped home.

They entered the dining room, where Theaden had set up a makeshift chemistry lab. A few cups were filled with liquids, all surrounding a massive plastic bottle. He fiddled with his glasses and spoke in a rapid voice. "I've been trying to figure out this chemical reaction that my teacher showed us a few days ago. I know he used yeast, water, soap, and hydrogen peroxide, but I don't know if it was twenty or forty volume."

Earhart stared at him blankly.

He waved a hand in the air. "You don't need to help me with any of that. I'm just worried it might explode, or something, so if you could maybe pour it in. . . ."

That inspired more confidence in them. "Psh, sure!" They exclaimed. "It'll be fine."

"Thanks Earhart, you're the best!" He said excitedly. He handed a glass of clear liquid to them. "Just, here, try this out first. Might as well go for the biggest reaction possible. Pour that in, and then run maybe?" He shrugged, seeming less concerned with that aspect of the plan.

Earhart showed as little regard for safety, carelessly walking over and dumping the liquid into the bottle. They crouched down to get a better view, and behind them Theaden slowly approached the table.

Suddenly, the liquids began to react. A blue foam began to form, slowly at first, then rapidly, shooting out of the top of the bottle. Earhart jumped back as it blasted out of the cup and fell to the floor. The reaction was over as soon as it began, blue foam settling all over the dining room floor and table.

The two Robertson siblings were quiet for a moment.

"That. Was. Awesome!" Earhart exclaimed excitedly. They turned and high-fived their brother, who joined in the enthusiasm, jumping up in place.

"The reaction was even bigger than in class. I wonder what it was? He said that the reaction was caused by the oxygen from the-"

"What in the world happened here?" The eldest Robertson walked into the room with a wide mouth and slacked jaw.

Theaden turned to Earhart, panic written across his face. "Scatter!" He quickly took hold of a handful of books and dashed out of the room.

Earhart didn't move, an excited smile still across their face as they looked up to their older brother. "You shoulda seen it, Coleman, it was like, pfmtbroom!" They attempted to recreate the sound effects of the explosion.

Coleman facepalmed. "This stuff could stain the floors-" He sighed. "Can you help me clean this up?"

Earhart nodded her head. Before he could give further instructions they bent down to their knees and scooped as much foam as they could manage into their arms.

"Not-" Coleman stopped himself, letting out another sigh. Foam squished against Earhart's shirt, dampening it, while bits of foam slunk into their sleeves and mixed with their hair. "Nevermind, just come dump that in this sink."

Earhart dropped the pile of warm foam into the thankfully empty sink, and Coleman ran the water and watched as it slowly slunk down the drain.

"Well, since you're already all foamy, you can just keep grabbing it with your arms. I'm gonna go get a mop."

Earhart agreed to that, and within a few minutes the floor was devoid of evidence. Coleman sighed, wiping his forehead as he set the mop down. "Thanks Earhart, just, try to not help Theaden if his invention or experiment or whatever involves destruction."

Earhart eyed him curiously. "We didn't destroy anything, did we? I'll fix it if we did."

"No, you didn't-" he stopped himself, held up a finger, and shook his head. "Never mind. I'll just go talk to Theaden. Try to stay out of trouble," he called out as he went down the hallway. "It's a long day for mom and dad, let's not give them anything else to worry about."

Earhart thought to ask him why they would take something that worried mom and dad and then give it to them, but didn't have time to formulate the question before Coleman was gone. Their mind wandered some more as they aimlessly traversed the home, eventually finding her way to the sizable backyard.

Auriol was out there already, their little sister playing with the youngest of the Robertsons, little five-year-old Omlie tolerantly allowing Auriol to attempt a french braid on her hair.

Earhart passed by the two of them with disinterest. They looked on for something more exciting, and didn't take long to find it.

Right behind the bushes where the two Robertson sisters were sitting, Wright was set up, hushing Earhart and motioning for them to approach. Earhart snuck their way over, diving down to their stomach as their ten-year-old brother began speaking in a hushed tone.

"Can you help me get them two?" He pointed to their sisters. "Auriol is hogging Omlie, when she was supposed to be playing pirates with me. So I think it's time to use the water balloons that I got from school last week." He motioned to a small bucket that was filled with a multi-colored collection of water balloons.

"Let's do it!" They said, pumping their fists with enthusiasm.

Wright winced, and Auriol stood up, looking back at the bushes. "Earhart? Wright? What are you guys doing back there?"

The two exchanged a look. "Get the balloons!" Wright shouted, making a mad dive for the bucket.

Earhart dove after, taking a firm grip of the bucket.

"Throw them!" Wright exclaimed.

They took a balloon in their hand, then looked at their brother with confusion.

Wright rolled his eyes. "At them!"

Earhart's eyes widened. "Right!" They said.

The two jumped to their feet, balloons in hand. Auriol finally realized what was happening, but too late. The balloons rained down on her, Earhart's throw hitting Omlie in the back of the head and sending her tumbling to the ground. With her face in the dirt, she began to madly giggle.

Auriol shrieked, frantically dodging the throws as she shouted for them to stop, her pleas quickly turning to threats and then back to pleas while Omlie's giggling increased in volume beside her when another balloon splashed right in front of her face.

Yeager stepped out of the house to investigate the noise, looking confused as they took in the situation. Wright pointed to their twelve-year-old sibling, and nudged Earhart in the shoulder. "Easier target!" He exclaimed. With a war cry he charged at Yeager, who quickly made their retreat back into the house. A water balloon exploded against the sliding door as they narrowly escaped the attack.

While Auriol was distracted, Earhart landed a hit on her back, which provided just enough distraction for Wright to hit her in the foot with the last of the balloons.

Auriol screamed in frustration, throwing her hands down. "You guys are dead!" She shouted.

Wright turned to Earhart, cackling as he shouted out, "run!" Earhart made a beeline for the house, dodging around Omlie when Auriol chased after them. They were able to lose their younger sister in the winding hallways of the house, but slipped into a bedroom to be sure, diving into the room and closing the door behind them.

"Can you knock!" Hoover moaned. Earhart's older brother let out an exasperated sigh and covered his face with a pillow as he attempted to shut his eyes.

Earhart knocked on the door.

Hoover threw down the pillow and sat up in his bed, looking at Earhart with tired, red eyes. "I'm just trying to get some sleep, can you please leave me alone?"

"I'm hiding from Auriol, I'll leave in a little bit," they said.

"Fine," Hoover muttered. The seventeen-year-old laid back down and closed his eyes. "Why are you running from Auriol, anyways?" He asked.

They recounted the story with explicit detail, right up to the moment that Wright shouted to run. Hoover just sighed, shaking his head.

"You shouldn't be bothering her today," he said glumly. "The reaping is tomorrow, she doesn't need to be upset about anything else."

"Why would she be upset about the reaping?" They asked, tilting their head as they sat down on the floor.

"Because she might get reaped. Because I might get reaped, or you, or any of us." His voice stammered a bit at that, and he let out a heavy sigh, turning over in his bed so he didn't have to face his sibling.

"She won't though," Earhart said simply. "None of us will."

"Everyone always says that," he muttered bitterly. "You don't _know _that, though."

"Yes I do," they said. There was no further explanation, no deep dive or thoughtful reflection. They knew that nobody they knew was getting reaped, and that was that.

Hoover sighed, and threw the pillow back over his head as he attempted once again to drift off to sleep. "You're wrong," he muttered.

Earhart wasn't listening though. They had already slipped out of the room, snaked through the halls, and sprinted for the sliding door that led to the backyard, not a single doubt in their mind.

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**A/N: Big thank you to ****Merp1Molecule and Goldie for Persephone and Earhart! I've gotten a ton of chapters stockpiled up, so I'm excited to be able to start speeding up updates soon as we enter into the pre-games! Just 2 more intros are left, with next chapter taking us to D8, and then D2 finishing them off after that! I am so excited to get these pre-games going, because all of the characters y'all sent me are so incredible, and I can't wait to get to see them interacting with one another. I've definitely been hitting a bit of writer's block with all these intros, and now that I've been writing pre-games words have started coming out a lot easier and more naturally.**

**Make sure to vote on the poll on my profile if you haven't already, as it's going to influence which tributes I give an extra POV in the Capitol during the free day or last night.**

**Trivia(1 point): Do you listen to music while reading and writing? If so, lyrical or instrumental? I feel like I'm really weird for listening to lyrical music while doing both, so I'm just tryna see if that's normal lmao**


	11. D8: Toxic

"Toxic"

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**A/N: Chugging along. I forgot it was Saturday and didn't go through and edit/revise this chapter, so sorry if it there's some mistakes in there lol.**

**Warning: Mentions of abuse in Udon's POV**

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_~Let this moment be the first chapter_

_Where you decide to stay_

_And I could be enough_

_And we could be enough~_

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**Udon Chang, 16  
**_1 Day ago._

Udon was bored out of his mind. The Justice Building was closed for the day in preparation for the Reaping, and that left Udon without a single thing to distract himself with. The work there was boring, paperwork and a whole lot of sitting around and waiting, but at least there he had Cindy to shoot the shit with. He felt like she was the one person he could be honest and open with, even if that honesty came through sarcastic quips rather than heartfelt conversations. That was much more Udon's style, anyways.

But Cindy had the day off, and was probably spending it with his dad. As much as he liked Cindy, and as much as he knew that her intentions were his money and not his company, that still stung a bit. The gap where his mom had once been felt more noticeable, especially when his dad seemed to have forgotten his wife had ever existed. He was out of the house though, so there was at least that to be thankful for. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up a nice, pleasant masquerade around him. Nick was starting to almost seem proud of his son, and nothing could disgust Udon more than the thought of that.

Cherry was gone too, his older sister off halfway across the district with some rich factory owner that had become her husband. One of his dad's main benefactors, as far as Udon could tell. What a deal it was for him, he got a steady flow of money to run his campaigns to stay mayor, and all it cost him was his daughter who he never showed affection for anyways. Now it was just him and Udon, and the pressure of that constantly tightening grasp made Udon feel like he was on the verge of cracking at any given moment.

He walked through the family living room and took his time, running his hand along the wall. The room hadn't been put to use for a long time. Udon and Nick were hardly a family, and neither had much time to waste, certainly not with one another. It was like the room was a photograph, hung in perfect stillness, capturing a time before life had turned sour.

Udon crouched down, and a slight smile slipped in place as he dusted off the old video game system that lay in disuse next to the television. It was a relic of the first few years of Nick's term as mayor, when the simple farm family suddenly were thrown into a world of Capitol luxuries. The games were old, cheap, uninteresting ones that the Capitol had discarded and shipped off to the fortunate few in the district who could afford it, but for eight-year-old Udon it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

Memories flooded his senses. Sitting on the couch in between Cherry and his mom, a controller in his hands while the scent of freshly made popcorn filled the air. He remembered laughing, and not having to force his smiles. Udon set the controller down, he didn't want to think about that now. That image of a happy family warmed his heart, which only made it sting that much more when he remembered it had been taken from him. That Nick was the one who had stolen it away.

The politics, the wealth, the connections, all of it had changed him. Udon couldn't remember life before the mayor office, but his mom did. She saw who her husband had become. He wondered sometimes if she saw him changing too, the way that he and Cherry had morphed into different versions of themselves. Adapt and survive, that was one of Nick's mottos. Cherry had certainly adopted it with her husband. Had Udon too?

No, of course not. He shook away the thought. For as long as he needed to he would pretend to be the son Nick wanted, but that didn't mean he was actually changing. They could blame rebels for his mom's death, they could even see that it was a suicide and say she took her own life, but Udon knew the truth. Nick had killed her. What he had done to her when she tried to take him and Cherry away, that was what killed her. He refused to believe otherwise. Even if it was her hands on the knife, it was still Nick in the background, pulling the strings.

Udon swore to himself that Nick would pay for that. Somehow, someday, there would be an opportunity, and he would return the favor. Where he once dreamed of a future, now it was a single moment that lingered in his thoughts. He wanted Nick to die, no, not just die, suffer. The same way that he made his mom suffer, and Cherry. He had torn apart their family, taken his mom away from him, and forced him to put on a charade. There was nothing left that Udon wanted but to see him hurt the way that he did.

The bruises from his beatings may have healed. The abusive digs and insults may have faded out of memory. They may have stopped, a more calm, less-concerned front put up in its place. But some things scarred over.

Udon felt his fists clenching. He drove his fists into the couch, not wanting to break anything, not in that room. He beat down on the cushion until he could contain himself enough to break away. His breath was coming through gritted teeth, and phantom pain covered his body from head to toe. Nick would feel all of it. Every hit, every bruise. Every insult, every derogatory remark. Every time he had torn their family apart. He would feel it all, and he would know it was Udon who made him hurt this time, instead of the other way around.

It wouldn't be soon enough, though. Nick was off writing the speech for the Reaping, complete with a boast of how District Eight was now one of only four districts to still have a living victor. Never mind that had nothing to do with him. It was enough apparently, to have him as a lock to secure three more years of leadership. Three more years of him being untouchable. Udon would be nineteen by then, out of the house, out in the world. He would just be a nobody, owing any connections or wealth or power to Nick and Nick only. That couldn't be the way he lived.

His mind flickered to the Reaping tomorrow. If he wanted that could be an option. If he were a victor he'd have even more power, more wealth, more fame than even his dad did. But no, he didn't want to die. Victor wasn't a very safe occupation anyways. He would find some other way.

There were still two and a half years left that he would be locked in a house together with Nick. Two and a half more years of playing that fake role of the son who was walking in his father's footsteps. Two and a half more years to suffer for the opportunity to make all the pain turn back around on its source.

Udon would make him pay.

**Inesa Hugo, 18**

_1 Month ago._

Unusual anxieties fluttered about Inesa's insides. She was used to feeling unstoppable, in control of both other's emotions and her own. The last few months it felt like that control was slipping out of reach. She craved that simplicity that she had lost.

It had seemed like a fairy-tale at first. Erasmus was everything that had been missing from her life ever since she could remember. Love. Real love. Not the disconnected and passionless marriage of her parents, but something real and full of fire. But fire was dangerous, and Inesa had gotten burned. And now, instead of pulling back, she was holding her hand over the flames, daring the licks of fire to burn her again. Trusting in something that was seemingly impossible to control.

If she was who she thought of herself as- strategic, thoughtful, charismatic and full of confidence because she always got what she wanted- then she would stop wasting her time with him. But if Erasmus was that dangerous flame, then Inesa was a moth, inexplicably drawn to him.

She wondered what Medea would say to her if her sister found out that the man Inesa had fallen for was a married man. Medea was the only person whose opinion would matter to Inesa, and that was coincidentally the most likely reason Inesa hadn't told her only sibling that piece of information just yet.

Inesa was exhausted of it all. She was barely able to keep up a charming front as she walked through the district. She smiled and sweetly exchanged kind words with shopkeepers and 'friends' as she passed by them on the way to Erasmus's. Her mind still swirled with possibilities, though, all of them focused on that burning fire that she kept crawling back to. No matter how many times he refused to give up his wife and choose Inesa. No matter how many times he refused to stay. Still she kept coming back.

Calling it an addiction wouldn't be right. Because it wasn't some physical gravitation that pulled her tightly to something that she knew only harmed her. It went deeper than that. She had lived a childhood where love was just a foreign concept, some meaningless abstraction. Her parents worked all hours of the day, one during the day and the other during the night so that they could avoid each other. They held no love towards each other, and if they held any towards Inesa and Medea they didn't know how to show it. No matter how much her mom showered Inesa in gifts, that couldn't replace that thing that had always been absent from her life.

And there it was. That missing piece, so impossible yet right in her reach. It almost seemed too perfect, and as it happened to turn out, it was. It took her a few months to know that she wasn't the only woman in Erasmus's life. Or the first for that matter. That had been the worst day of her life, and yet she had pushed through it. She was so close to happiness, a type of joy that her parents had never known. All Erasmus had to do was leave his wife and be with _her_. He would realize that Inesa was all that he wanted. She just had to wait.

She only had to wait. The minutes were passing by, Inesa sitting in the two's secret meeting place, anxious for Erasmus to appear. It seemed like she was seeing him less and less, like he was slipping away. They weren't even meeting at his home anymore, their meetings relegated to stolen moments in quiet places of the district and nights beneath her bed sheets that passed by far too quickly.

When he finally did arrive, he came empty-handed. None of the flowers combined with charming smiles and sweet words that had made Inesa fall for him those first few blissful weeks. His hands were in his pockets, a bored expression as he dipped into the quiet part of the forested park that he had told her to meet him at.

"Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." She tried to pass the words off as teasing, uncaring and flirtatious, maybe just a bit eager. Instead, she heard the sound of desperation, of fear and uncertainty, and attachment that couldn't be met.

He blew a raspberry, shrugging. "I was busy," he said, and nothing else was offered. No excuses, no apologies or sincerity.

"So," she said, bouncing up and down on her heels as her fingers tangled around her hair. "You wanted to meet me here?" Her voice raised an octave, a hopeful lilt in her voice as she smiled at him sweetly.

"Yeah, you free tomorrow?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Yes," she said, allowing herself to feel a bit of optimism.

"Cool, I'll stop by your place tomorrow night then. Sometime around six or seven, I'll have to leave by nine." The words came out from his mouth like they were nothing. Like he was scheduling an appointment with his doctor, or setting up a meeting with a classmate to work on a project.

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "I just thought that we could maybe spend the day together. It's been a while." She said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I'm just real busy, you know," he said. His eyes darted away, his feet shuffling away from Inesa, posturing to turn and walk away.

She stepped forward, her heart skipping a beat. She wouldn't let him continue to slip away. He couldn't slip away. "Well, why don't we meet up somewhere to grab dinner then? Maybe go for a walk through the park afterwards? We haven't been out in so long. Together." The words stung as they pushed through her lips. Together. That was what Erasmus and another woman were. But not Inesa. She was the piece that didn't belong to the puzzle, attempting to push herself into a finished picture that had already been painted without her.

"I can't do that." He sighed, frustration evident as he started to turn away. "Just, I'll see you tomorrow at your place, okay?"

"Why?" She demanded, her voice rising to a shrill yell, her anxiety and anger boiling over. "Why can you never make time for me? I thought that it was supposed to just be _us._"

"Well, it isn't just us, and you know that," he spat out. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a sigh. "You wanna know why I don't have time for you lately, is that it?"

"Yes," she cried out.

"Because my wife is pregnant!" He shouted at her in a hushed tone. She fell quiet, dropping off her toes and down to the balls of her feet. It felt like an invisible hand had taken hold of her throat, squeezing tight.

Her words barely come out in a whimper. "What?"

"She has been for three months," he said. He took a deep breath, straightening out his jacket. "I don't have time for you right now, okay? I'll see you whenever I can, but I have other priorities."

The dagger twisted. She felt her breath leave her lungs. He turned to walk away, and she fell forward, scrambling as she grabbed onto his arm. Inesa clung onto the sleeve of his jacket, holding tight onto her lifeline. The life she had planned out, that world of love that Erasmus had shown her was suddenly being ripped away from her. But she wouldn't let go. She couldn't let go.

"You can't go back." She sobbed. "Don't go."

He yanked away, but she held onto his arm, dragged down onto her knees as tears pooled up in her eyes. "What do you want me to do?" He demanded.

"Leave her," she begged him. "Stay with me. It doesn't have to be complicated. We don't have to be like this. It can just be me and you." She wiped at her eye, forcing a smile as she looked up at the face that she had fallen in love with. Her future. Her everything. This was where their story turned around. The moment that he decided not to leave. "Please," she whispered. "Stay."

He pulled harder, tearing away from her and stepping back. His eyes fluttered away, and tears streamed down her eyes as she watched that moment shatter in front of her.

"I've gotta go," he said, not a drop of emotion in his voice. Erasmus turned and walked away, and left Inesa on her knees, arms outstretched, holding a hand that had been ripped away from her.

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**A/N: Thank you to Dreamer and AlexFalTon for Inesa and Udon! I really love both of them and look forward to writing the D8 dynamics in the future. There's now only one final intro left, so yay for that! I've already finished up the train rides and am into the Capitol, so hopefully we can keep these consistent updates going! See y'all next time in D2!**


	12. D2: Fearless

"Fearless"

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**A/N: Here are the final two tributes, Talon and Lana!**

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_~Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds_

_It's all over now_

_Before it has begun_

_We've already won~_

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**Talon Olympus, 18  
**_1 Week ago._

"Welcome, Talon, take a seat." Head Trainer Durand ushered him into the office. She shoved aside the files and books that littered the desk as Talon sat opposite from her.

"Durand," he said casually. He popped his jacket, leaning back into his seat with an easy smirk.

"I'm here to discuss your progress in training," she hummed, distracting herself as she flipped through her drawers. "As you undoubtedly know."

"I have my ideas." He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

She pulled a file out and dropped it onto the desk. There were a few dozen pieces of paper, and she began skimming through them. It was a while before she spoke again. "According to all my trainers you're top of the class in just about every category. Swords, bows, leadership, manipulation, survival. You show a particular penchant for strategy."

"People do like to tell me how great I am." His expression hadn't changed since he entered the room, and neither had his tone. He seemed a cross between indifference and amusement, all while a casual smirk stayed locked in place.

"And what do you think of your capabilities?" She asked.

"That I'm the best in the academy." He shrugged, there was hardly much argument to be had there. "That I was the best last year too, and that if you sent me in, instead of Horatio, District Two would have a victor right now."

"Better than the man who got a twelve in training?" She raised her eyebrow at him, but hardly seemed surprised by the claim.

"Better than the man who got fourth place, and lost a sword fight to an untrained fifteen-year-old," Talon corrected her. "He was a brutish psychopath, I'd think by now the academy would figure out that sending man-children who can't control their rage is a poor idea. I mean, outside of Two, who was rooting for Horatio?"

Durand eyed him curiously. "Are you implying that us not receiving enough _sponsors _is the reason we've lost the last few years?"

"Naw, of course not," Talon said. "I'm implying that nobody ever wants us to win. Livia, Brick, Achilles, Garen, all of them were disappointing victors, because they were all a bunch of sadists that liked torturing kids."

"And yet all of them won."

"And when was the last time one of our volunteers won?" Talon had the question prepared. "A whole lot of psychopaths with impressive looking training scores keep getting killed in unlucky accidents."

It didn't take much to read between the lines of what Talon was suggesting. Durand pursed her lips. "What is it precisely you're trying to say."

Talon sighed, more out of boredom than anything else. "I'm saying you need someone who knows how to play the crowd. Somebody that can get the Capitol rooting for them. Someone the Gamemakers look at and decide would make a nice victor. Because, seriously. You can't look at me with a straight face and tell me that the Gamemakers didn't do everything in their power to try to make sure Prestige Freeman left that arena last year."

Durand leaned back into her chair. "And you think you can fill that role?"

"I like to think so."

"Because, what, you're just full of charisma and charm?" Durand's voice dripped with sarcasm.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I have my moments."

Durand jotted a few notes down. She didn't even glance up at him as she asked her next question. "And why exactly is it that you want to volunteer, Mr. Olympus?"

Talon took his hands out of pockets and placed them on the desk, leaning forward for the first time. "What kind of answer are you looking for?" He asked amusedly. "Glory and honor? Fame? Or is that too prideful? Maybe something to do with preserving my family name. What if I said I just _really _liked killing children and this is the best way to do that? Would that make a difference?"

Durand met his gaze. "You're proving to be full of jokes and quips and empty of substance."

Talon didn't flinch. "Is substance what you really want? Because I think you want me to just check the boxes that you think make a good Career, regardless of whether that actually works or not." He leaned back into his chair. "I can sit here and tell you that I'm volunteering because I want to make my parents proud and do something purposeful if you want. I can tell you I'm going to take control of the Career pack, kill everyone in my path, and then win the honor duel at the end between the other Careers. Those are the answers you always get, I'm sure."

She leaned forward. "And what's the answer you'd be looking for?"

"Pliability, and purpose." The answer came instantly. "The Games aren't a place to find yourself. It's not a place for people who aren't sure of who they are and what they want, and it isn't a place where you can follow a carefully thought out plan. I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know what I'm willing to do in order to achieve my wants."

"And what are you willing to do?"

Talon's smile dropped for a brief moment. "Anything."

"And failure doesn't scare you?"

"Not in the least," he said, and it was immediately clear that wasn't a lie.

Durand neatly set down her pen. "For all your speeches and tangents, you still haven't answered what exactly it is you want out of the Games, Mr. Olympus."

"The greater good," he said assuredly. "Does it have to be more complicated than that? There's five victors left in the whole country and every last one of them are shell-shocked recluses. Victors have some of the most power of anybody in Panem, but none of them ever do any good with it. Every year it's the same thing. Either a psychopathic, selfish sadist who doesn't care about anyone else, or a damaged kid who wastes their life in addiction."

"So, you want to volunteer. . . to make the world a better place?" Durand eyed him up oddly.

"Is that too much to ask for?"

"Too much to believe in, maybe."

Talon nearly laughed at that. He leaned back even further into his seat and shrugged. "What do you think I want then?"

Durand paused. "I don't know," she admitted. "And I don't like that. A decade of paperwork, training results, interviews with instructors, conversations with peers, and none of it seems to crack your surface. I would be impressed if I weren't so frustrated."

"I'm an open book." Talon threw his arms behind the back of his head. "There isn't always an ulterior."

She looked him over wearily, then nodded, flipping to a new page. "Tell me about some of your training partners. You're rather insulated in your training, only working with a small group of people. Enlighten me on why you've chosen these particular. . . five people to work with."

"My parents are the best trainers at the academy," he answered. "It'd be a waste of time to work under any other trainers."

"I don't doubt the claim. And they're knowledgeable of your strengths and weaknesses. I don't question those two's inclusions. I was more interested in your peers you've chosen to align with. Quite an odd group. Let's start with Winter Pilonus, shall we?"

Talon pondered on that. Winter was a behemoth, standing at just under six-and-a-half feet and weighing in somewhere close to two-hundred-fifty pounds. The two had been rivals for as long as Talon could remember, the pair standing far above anyone else in their class.

"Winter's the best fighter in the academy now that Horatio is gone," Talon stated. "His greatest strengths are my biggest weaknesses, and vice-versa."

Durand nodded. "How about Riven Leicester, then? Certainly wouldn't call her an exceptional fighter. In fact, she doesn't seem to stand out in any way. She's thoroughly average, perfectly located in the middle of the sixteen age group. What are you gaining from training with her?"

Talon shrugged. "Not much of anything."

"And yet you train with her anyways," Durand hummed.

"I have my reasons."

"For an open book, you can be awful difficult to read, Mr. Olympus," Durand said in a low voice.

Talon paused for a moment in thought. He sat up in his seat. "Two years from now she'll be sitting in this chair, and you'll be interviewing her. It won't take long for you to see her as the only logical choice for the chosen volunteer."

"Then I suppose I should look forward to that conversation with great anticipation." Durand flipped onto a new page. "And I suppose you train with your eleven-year-old sister, Irelia Olympus, in order to pass on your skills?"

"She doesn't need any help with that." Talon leaned back into his seat, looking removed from the conversation. "She'll be a far better fighter than I ever was within a few years."

"So why do you spend precious time training with her then?"

He glanced at her and fell quiet for a moment. "Remember our discussion about District Two volunteers? Of. . . the typical victor? That's why."

"Most enlightening." She smiled. "Now, Mr. Olympus, just one final question for you."

"Shoot."

Durand took her glasses off, squinting at Talon intently, studying him over. "If Winter, Riven, and Irelia were in the Games with you, how would you assess them as threats, and what would you do to ensure your victory."

Durand seemed pleased with herself, but Talon was unfazed, his trademark smirk still in place as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. "Winter is a better fighter than me, but lacks a killer instinct and analytical, distrustful eye. I would befriend him, use his fighting prowess to ensure the two of us avoided getting defeated by any larger groups, and then play on his empathy and compassion to throw him off in our inevitable honor dual. He would be unwilling to kill me, and I would use that to my advantage.

"Riven is loud and confident, but lacks conviction and confidence. Befriend her, poke and prod at her self-esteem and make her doubt her own abilities. She would fall apart and die long before the finale, and even if she did last that long her fighting abilities wouldn't hold up to mine.

"Irelia, assuming for a moment she's older in this scenario and fully realized, is a greater threat. A far better fighter than me, unpredictable, her only weakness would be her own self-assured confidence. She would be too confident to betray an ally early. I would hope that she somehow gets taken out by a competitor, but barring that would take the necessary steps to ensure an honor duel between the two of us doesn't take place. Dishonor is preferable to death."

There was a long pause as Durand stared Talon down. He seemed unfazed, not cracking the least bit, his easy smirk locked in place.

Durand finally sighed. "You're a fortunate young man," she said reluctantly. "I didn't even want to consider you as a candidate at first, and gladly would have passed up on you for a weaker volunteer if given the opportunity. As it stands, however, recent events have resulted in a decrease of willing volunteers. The only suitable candidate to replace you was one Mr. Winter. However, he declined an interview with me. He seems to think quite highly of you."

"Winter is a good man." Talon nodded. "The Hunger Games wouldn't suit him."

"That much we can agree on." She said quietly. She stuffed the paperwork back into her desk. Hesitantly, she extended a hand across the table. "Well, Mr. Olympus, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your selection as the chosen male volunteer for the one-hundred and second Hunger Games.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

**Lana Birkhead, 12  
**_2 Weeks ago._

She sat cross-legged in the pitch black room. An acute buzzing noise filled the room with static. Her eyes were bloodshot, wide open as she attempted to adjust to the newfound darkness. Fatigue fought with her, attempting to pull her into sleep, but she resisted. The moment she let her eyes slip closed, the blinding lights would flash back on. She hated the lights. They made her head pound and her eyes burn. If she was still enough, her entire body seemed to enter a restful state. That was close enough to sleep for her.

She didn't want to sleep, anyways. Her number one priority was to stay alert. At any moment something could stir in the dark, silent room. A threat could enter through the door. Whatever was coming, she had to be ready. Being caught off guard meant failure. Failure wasn't an option.

The door creaked open. She remained quiet, but began to ready herself mentally. There were multiple footsteps, if she concentrated hard enough she could imagine their outlines in the dark void. As long as she didn't move, that advantage was hers to take advantage of.

The lights flashed on. She instinctively covered her eyes and scurried backwards. Two guards, armed with tranquilizer rifles and wearing face masks, were standing in the middle of the room. Between them, held up by each of his arms, was a frail, malnourished man. He had a scraggly beard, was covered in dark bruises, and had downcast eyes that watered with fear.

A fourth man entered the room. Lana quickly hopped to her feet, her arms at her side and her head held steady, facing forward. She avoided his eyes as he scanned over her thoughtfully. One of her hands began to shake and she dug her nails into her palm, steadying herself. She struggled to keep her balance, wobbling ever so lightly as she drew blood. Her eyes stayed wide as she fought to avoid showing signs of fatigue. Weakness meant failure. Failure wasn't an option.

The man in the charcoal suit set a briefcase on the lone, colorless table that stood in the otherwise empty room. From the suitcase, he drew out a long, intricately carved dagger. A firm black grip stood on top of stainless silver steel. The blade curved at the end into a wicked edge. The man ran his finger delicately along the sharp edge.

He walked over to her with purpose, and she tensed up, holding her body rigidly still and keeping her eyes at an even level. She barely held in a flinch as he stopped just in front of her. The man took hold of the blade of the dagger, and extended the handle towards her.

"Take it."

She didn't hesitate, taking hold of the handle. It was cool to the touch, and she was unable to stifle the shiver that ran through her bones as he let go and the weight fell into her hands. The man looked over her, circling her with interest, a hand held up to his chin. He turned from her and nodded to the guards.

They threw the scraggly man to the ground, and he hardly resisted. She decided he was most likely under the effects of a sedative. His body was still, hardly any reaction at all as he was thrown roughly to his knees. The drug didn't keep the fear out of his eyes though.

The man stood beside her, his arms crossed as he looked at the scraggly man. "Kill him," he said.

She was still. Her muscles tensed up as she looked down at the dagger in her hands. She looked over to the scraggly man on the ground. Tears were in his eyes. His mouth moved, slowly morphing open and closed. No noise came out. The room was silent aside from the beating of her heart in her ears.

"Defiance means failure," the man reminded her sternly.

"Failure is never an option," she said robotically. She placed a hand to her chest, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

She moved forward, dagger held firmly in her hand. She didn't allow herself the luxury of thought as she buried the dagger into the scraggly man's stomach. His mouth formed on 'o' as he exhaled. Pain shined in his eyes.

She pulled the dagger out of him and stuck it in him again. And again. And again. His flesh squished as she stabbed into him. Her teeth grinded against one another and her breath became unsteady, her heart beating uncontrollably. The sound of flesh being torn into faded away as the sound of her heartbeat filled her ears.

By the time she stopped, her arms were dipped in red. She felt a trickle of blood running down her cheek. When she brought up a hand to wipe it away she only succeeded in leaving a red handprint on her face. Her heartbeat was still in her ears.

"Good riddance." One of the guards spat on the scraggly man. The other one chuckled softly.

She saw red.

Her arms moved without command. Instinct and training took over. She slashed out at the guard who had spat. He screamed as his cheek sliced open. The guard who had chuckled reached for his rifle. His scream was silent as his throat spilt open. She turned back to the other guard and stabbed forwards, the dagger planting itself into his heart. They both fell to their knees, the chuckling guard scratching at his neck while the spitting guard grasped at his chest.

"Stop! Stop it right now! Drop that dagger, that is an order!"

The dagger dropped from her hands. She didn't dare turn to face the man as he exploded with anger. She forced air through gritted teeth. Her hands clenched into fists.

The man murmured to himself for a while, something incomprehensible. It seemed to take him a minute to remember she was still standing there. "You've started this, now finish the job!" He hissed at her. She turned to face the man and saw disgust written across his features. "Pick up the dagger and slit their throats already!"

She did as he said. The dagger felt heavy in her hands. She dropped it back to the ground once the deed was done. She was glad the eyes were covered by their masks. She didn't want to see their eyes.

The man paced back and forth. "Stay there, and be quiet!" He commanded. He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. His voice bordered on frantic as he began to speak. She couldn't hear the other side of the conversation.

"We have a problem. Yes. No, worse. Worse. She killed the guards. Yes I know you had worries, but this was a critical- no, yes. We had to observe her reaction, we couldn't send her in with no experience. Desensitization was the mission. Well, no, I don't think this is a sign of failure. There are other variables at play- I know. Well, the investors knew this would be a risky project from the start. Yes, I agree we have to do something drastic- no, I'll stall, but it won't be too long before our work here is leaked. We have to push the timetable forward- yes, I know age seventeen was agreed upon, but things have changed- she is more than ready, this is a minor hiccup. I can pull some strings, come meet me in my office as soon as possible, we'll discuss the details- no, yes, I know the investors will want answers, so do your job and give them some!" The man slammed the phone shut and ran a hand through his hair.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to her. "I have an important task for you. The most important thing I have asked of you. Failure will not be an option. Is that something you can handle?"

She held herself rigid and clamped her hands shut. Her voice sounded like someone else's echo. "Failure is never an option."

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**A/N: This is one of my favorite intros I've done in a while, so hopefully y'all liked it!**

**Anyways: Omg the intros are done. Finally. Next chapter will come out next week because the goodbyes are pretty short, and then after that we're onto the pre-games. I might start posting some deleted scenes on the blog soon too, now that we're headed into the pre-games. I have like 6 chapters finished and stockpiled, so I'm gonna start speeding up the updates. See y'all soon!**

**Trivia(1 point): I put up a new poll on my profile that y'all can go vote on! I'll assume that you did if you leave a review and give you a freebie.**

**Trivia(1 point): Now that we've seen (almost) all of the tributes, which one(s) are you most excited to see more of?**


	13. Goodbyes: The Fall

"The Fall"

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**A/N: I wanted to give everyone pre-games POVs that felt important to their character development, and is it so happened Julie was the only one that felt she needed her goodbyes to be written. So, short chapter here, which means a quick update.**

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_~And I'm free_

_Free falling~_

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**Julie Novum, 14. District Three.**

Julie's world seemed to be diving down in a tailspin. She had never exactly been soaring high, out of view of any worldly issues. No, every moment of her life had seemed a brawl to the top, a constant struggle as she climbed higher and higher, attempting to rise above the life she had been dealt. That only made the fall that much more painful. She knew what the ground felt like when you slipped and could do nothing but brace for the impact. It seemed to her that falling was all she had been doing recently.

Steel, Lucy, and Willoughby had come first. Their goodbyes were awkward. Sure, they were friends, but more out of necessity than anything else. There weren't many out there that could keep up with Julie, and so she tended to have slim pickings for friends. Steel was a decent enough guy, annoying for sure, but Willoughby was downright frustrating. Lucy was the only one she'd call a real friend. They kept it brief and optimistic at least, saying they were sure she'd be back in no time. Too stubborn to die, Willoughby had said. She decided she liked the sound of that.

Then her family entered the room, and she was back to falling.

"You shouldn't have cried, everyone's gonna think you're a wimp now." Her little brother Briggs was the first in the room, and came prepared with a snarky insult.

Her old brother Gaia was the next to speak up, reserved and high-strung as ever. "I tried to tell you that you needed to dress prim and proper. A lady always has to be steadfast and dignified, not emotional."

"Any other advice?" Julie murmured as her parents came into the room.

"Nothing that you haven't already ignored a thousand times before," her father said gruffly. None of them so much as bothered to sit down across from her, looking down at where she sat with disapproving, disinterested glances.

"Well, maybe my brother will have some new advice for me," she muttered.

"That boy is no brother of yours," her mom said, a sharp edge to her voice. "He's certainly not a child of mine."

"And I'm not either apparently," Julie bit back. "Maybe I'm more like Dalton than you know."

"Don't say that," Gaia said. "He's a monster. You're nothing like him."

"I guess we'll find out soon," Julie said, and her voice shook with the rest of her body as the words rang out. She remembered little of her brother, but she had seen the replays of his Games. Was Dalton like her before the Games? Would she turn into a monster in the arena? She would be meeting him soon for the first time since he left for the arena, what would he be like? The uncertainty was frightening, but a little thrilling too, she had to admit. Even if he was the monster he seemed to be, he was the only person that would maybe understand her. The way that she felt strangled by her family, and so horribly out of place; he had escaped it all.

Still though, that grin on his face as he stabbed a knife into the back of his ally's neck right after she had killed for him? That image was impossible to shake. Even if Dalton was her brother, and her mentor on top of it, part of her still chilled at the thought of meeting him. But where could there ever be excitement without fear?

The rest of their time together went by quietly. Nobody had much of anything to say, but it still felt wrong for any of them to leave early. They may have been her blood, but she wasn't a Novum, not really. They wore the typical District Three beliefs on their sleeves, while she wore her heart on her's. Her family was so focused on stifling and burying anything true or real, when all she wanted to do was climb to the tallest rooftop in all of the district and shout out her truth so that the whole world could hear it. Her faded pink hair and the splint on her arm were proof of that belief. The climb and the fall.

She was relieved when their time ended early. They all wished her well and told her they loved her, and she returned the gesture, even if she did it emptily. It struck her as she sat alone in the room just how empty all her goodbyes felt. Maybe that was because it wasn't goodbye. If it wasn't goodbye, but just until next time, then what reason would there be to be emotional about it? That was a nice thought, but she wasn't naive enough to believe it.

Julie wondered if goodbyes always felt so hollow. She was used to feeling alone. Even when she was surrounded by people, people she called friends even, it still felt like she was all by herself. There was nobody to understand her, or keep up with her dreams, or understand that she wanted more out of life than District Three could offer. Nobody else seemed to look up at those towering walls and want so badly, more than anything else, to be able to climb them. And even if they did dream about that, they didn't want it like her.

Lucy's mom had once told her she had wanderlust, that she wanted to see the world. Julie thought it was more. It was like only part of her had been born in District Three, and the other half of her was out there, constantly pulling her, leaving her feeling incomplete, unwhole. Maybe that would explain it. How could she ever feel anything but lonely when a part of her was always missing?

She wasn't aware she was crying until the door creaked open, and the mayor and his wife, Lucy's parents, stepped into the room. Julie looked up at them, unable to front any sort of emotion besides the genuine confusion and surprise she felt. Her eyes were still damp, threatening to spill over.

The mayor stood by the door, while Mrs. Markov calmly sat down across from Julie. The woman handed her a handkerchief, which Julie used to quickly wipe away her tears before handing it back.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting any more visitors." Julie sniffled.

"I didn't mean to surprise you," she said softly. "If you want to be alone—"

"It's okay," Julie said. "I don't mind."

She nodded her head. "I feel. . . terrible, watching you get reaped. I can't think of anybody who deserves it less, and I know it may not mean much, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry."

"If you can't think of anybody who deserves it less, you need to meet some more people." That should have been a bitter thought, but Julie cracked a smile.

She returned the smile. "I mean it, you've been a good friend to Lucy. A role model."

"I don't know about that." Julie held up her splinted hand, still recovering from its recent break. "Some role model I am."

"I never said you were perfect." She smiled, an amused glint in her eye. "A bit wild, sure. Lord knows Lucy is as well. But you're a good person, Julie, and that's all that really matters."

Julie shifted in her seat. "You really mean that?"

She reached across and took hold of Julie's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're kind, and empathetic, and unafraid of your emotions. No matter what happens, nobody can take that away from you."

Julie swallowed a lump in her throat. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Could. . . could you do me a favor?"

"Of course," she said.

"Could you stay with me until it's time to go?" Julie asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "I don't want to be alone."

It was ten more minutes before the Peacekeepers came for Julie and escorted her out of the Justice Building, and to the train that would finally take her out of the district that had caged her in for so long. She was still scared, but she felt just a little bit less lonely. And maybe that could be enough.

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**A/N: Like I said, short chapter, but hopefully you enjoyed! Next one will be the first half of the train rides, and will be a good bit longer, because I love writing pre-games stuff. Hoping to start burning through the pre-games at a good pace, so expect some more updates soon!**

**Trivia(1 point): Is cereal a soup?**


	14. Train Rides 1: Figure Me Out

"Figure Me Out"

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**A/N: Almost forgot it was Saturday lol. Anyways, here's the first half of the train rides.**

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_~Cause they think that I'm famous when I know I'm a fraud_

_Who got too fucked up on the finer things to remember who he forgot~_

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**Dalton Faux, 24, District Three, ****Victor of the 95th Hunger Games**

It was uncharacteristic of Dalton to be nervous. Even during his Games he had gone through the arena with steel cold nerves. There was never a doubt in his mind what the outcome would be, just like he had no doubts about any of his tributes ever becoming victor. Some of them showed some promise, sure, but he never got himself invested. Even if he could bring himself to care, which he couldn't, there wouldn't be much purpose in it. He showed up every year and did his job, nothing more, nothing less. He passed on his wisdom, and let the kids know what it would take if they wanted to win. Whether or not they took his advice, or followed it once in the arena proper, was out of his control and beyond his emotional capacity for caring.

The other victors liked to call him a psychopath, or at the very least an asshole, for that. Well, the other victors were practically all dead, so fuck them, he thought.

While he was busy cursing things out, he took a moment to bemoan his current mental state. The reapings were supposed to be an entertaining day, a shitshow that provided some brief reprieve of entertainment before the onslaught of questions and breakdowns that his tributes would undoubtedly provide. The boy had held up his end of the bargain, anyways. Ty Bale may not have reached the theatrical amusement of the previous year, but the way his cool, unfazed façade shattered for a millisecond when a kid shouted out, "mommy, it's the balloon boy!" from the audience was enough to keep Dalton amused. Besides, he had done well for himself, and showed some decent promise. He knew how to put up a false image, even when it was difficult to, and he looked strong enough. The Capitol would be eating him up already as one of the promising outliers. Normally Dalton would run with that, especially considering there wasn't anyone else among the batch of twenty-four that had a competent, experienced mentor who knew how to market a tribute to sponsors and Gamemakers alike.

But this year was proving to be anything but normal.

The year after he had been reaped, Sebastian had followed him. His twin brother always was a bit of a twat, and had always liked to ostracize him. Sebastian was the wanted son, while Dalton was the black sheep. Too sharp, too quick to speak, too willing to form his own opinions rather than follow a dogmatic doctrine. Still, though, he had tried to get Sebastian home. Ungrateful, distasteful, unintelligent and thoroughly annoying ass that he was, Dalton had done everything he could. It hadn't been close to enough, and that loss still stung. He still wasn't sure if it was the loss of his brother who he had grown up with, or the stinging realization that he had failed as a mentor that brought that pain to him. He didn't think about it often, and hadn't thought that he would ever need to again.

And then they called her name. Julie Novum. It was seven years ago that he had last seen her. Part of him expected, maybe even hoped, that she would step out and walk up stage, every bit as much a Novum as the rest of them. And then he had seen her, splinted hand, short pink hair, and sobbing out in a full-blown panic attack. No more a Novum than Cyril had been a Lovelace. No more a Novum than Dalton had been. A black sheep, an outcast, a fake. A Faux.

He pounded another shot of whiskey without thought, shaking his arms and attempting to loosen his tensed muscles. At long last, he steeled himself up and pushed through the door, entering the dining room.

The new escort was attempting to make small chat with the pair, but was clearly out of her comfort zone. Roxanne Cloutier was the typical escort that got thrown at outlier districts like Three, a snobby kid who got tossed the job because of who their parents were. No discernible talents, zero charisma, and a seeming disdain, or at least discomfort, when it came to the districts.

Neither of the tributes noticed him as he slipped into the room, Ty too engrossed and Julie too disgusted by whatever Roxanne was saying to notice Dalton until he was already seated across from the pair.

"So, this is what they give me to work with this year." Dalton took a moment to let that sink into the room, his eyes darting across the duo and attempting to analyze them in the way he normally would. When his gaze settled onto Julie, fierce eyes looking back at him with a hardness that shielded curiosity, that tested system failed. He held up a hand in the general direction of Roxanne. "You can leave now, whatever your name is."

The escort offered little more than an offended gasp as she stood up and exited the train car, leaving Dalton alone with the District Three duo.

"Ty Bale," the boy said confidently, reaching out his hand as he offered a suave smile.

Dalton didn't even spare him a glance. "Yeah, you can shut up now," he said, waving a hand in his direction.

Ty tried to regain a semblance of assuredness as he brought his hand back, rubbing the back of his head as he stared out the nearby window.

Julie matched Dalton's curious gaze. "So, they don't exaggerate how much of an asshole you are, huh?"

He didn't so much as blink. "They downplay it, if anything."

"Hmph." She almost seemed to smile as she leaned back into her chair.

"How's the family?" He asked, almost pleasantly.

Julie snorted. Nothing else needed to be said on that front. She picked up a grape from the untouched display of food that sprawled across the table that separated them. "You should be nicer to T-Bale," she said casually.

"Should I now?" Dalton asked.

"Yeah, he's my ally afterall," she said assuredly.

"Huh?" Ty switched his attention away from the window, looking more dazed than anything else.

"Is that so?" Dalton asked amusedly.

"Of course," she said, as if it were never even a question. "The Capitol is gonna love him, guy's the most talented person I've ever seen up on stage. Plus, he promised to me once that he was gonna become famous. I'm gonna want a piece of that pie. That is, if you want to ally with me?"

Ty noticeably inflated at that, his chest puffing up while a glimmer of recognition flashed across his eyes. "You're the girl from the restaurant yesterday." He stopped to think for a moment, then nodded his head, that confident demeanor right back in place. "Yeah, sure, you can be my ally."

The two exchanged a few more words, Julie complimenting his performance at some school musical while Ty subtly boasted and bragged, all the while Dalton eyed his younger sister curiously. He wanted to be impressed. A few well placed words and a serious contender, one who would draw in his fair share of sponsors, was allied with her. Not only that, but a serious contender with a very obvious, very easy to exploit weakness. If he were in her shoes, he would do the exact same thing. Yet her intentions weren't within his grasp.

Nothing about the way she spoke, the glint in her eyes, her generous, amiable body movement seemed to betray any sort of ulterior. While it had been a while since he had seen his little sister, she had never been the manipulative type, either. Outspoken, brassy, emotional, honest to a fault, and compassionate above everything else. No, Julie wasn't a Novum, but she certainly didn't seem to be a Faux, either. Maybe that was a good thing.

"So then, big bro, what do you say?" Julie asked him. "Everyone's always talking 'bout how clever you are. So let's see it. What's the plan?"

Dalton paused for a moment, taking in the two tributes before him, looking at him in guarded anticipation. "Alright," he said, shoving aside any hesitation. "If we're gonna do this, and I mean _really _do this. We're going to do it right. Let's start with 'T-Bale' himself, what sort of talents do you bring to the table?"

"The better question would be what I _don't _bring to the table," he said smarmily.

Julie jumped in to give a real answer before Dalton could strangle the boy that was already proving to test his patience. "He's the best singer I've ever heard, a real good actor too."

Dalton nodded his head. "We can work with that. Do you have any other talents?"

"I can make balloon animals," Ty said.

It took everything within Dalton to not sigh and smack himself on the forehead.

"Any other talents that might have a use in the arena?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Ty leaned back into his seat and popped his collar. "I'm a man of many talents."

"So that's a no, then," Dalton said. He turned to his other tribute before a response could be offered. "Alright, Julie, how much longer until your hand is healed?"

She shrugged and held her hand up, giving the splint a knock. "It's already good to go, they just wanted me to keep the splint on for another week to reduce the risk of it breaking again."

Dalton nodded. "Doctors in the Capitol can help with that once we arrive. In the meantime, keep that on and try to not damage anything else. You got any hidden talents that don't involve balloons?"

"I can climb," Julie offered.

"How well?" He asked.

Julie smiled, in an eerily similar way to how Ty had while bragging. "Best free-climber in the district." Her voice offered no hint of doubt.

"You sure about that?" He asked, gesturing to her splint.

Her voice quieted, her smile slipping away. "That was nothing."

Dalton thought to push further, but something stopped him in his tracks. Against his better judgement, he dropped it, and moved on. "Alright, well, you got anything else?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "I'm a pretty fast runner, I guess."

"We can work with that." He paused, diving inwards and growing quiet for a long moment. His brain fired off, data points connecting to one another as he weaved his way through the barebones of a strategy. Not just a half-baked plan or piece of advice offered to a doomed teen. He worked his way through the problem as if it were himself that were headed back into the arena, that it was his life that was hanging precariously in the balance. No room for failure. Nothing left on the table, no possibility left unexplored.

"Alright," he said after a long while. He turned to face Julie, and couldn't help the smile that cracked his lips. District Three was bringing home a victor this year. He was sure of it. "Here's the plan."

**Hailey Hills, 15, District One, Victor of the 101st Hunger Games**

Hailey hated how badly she wished she had a drink. She wasn't nervous, or scared, or anything like that. Why would she have been? There was no reason for her to get committed to saving the lives of a couple of academy jackasses who volunteered for the Games, knowing fully well what they were getting into. As far as she was concerned, they weren't her responsibility. If it weren't for Glory she wouldn't have even bothered coming at all. But someone had to come watch over the pipsqueak, she figured. Not everyone could cope with all that had happened in the past year.

So she would come along to the Capitol. She would sober up for the first time in the past twelve months, and be there for Glory, whatever that meant. It was all she was good for, anyways. She wouldn't smile for the cameras though, or sit down with her tributes and try to help them win. No matter who they were, or what they had done, she had killed four people in that arena. Another two had died because of her. Most of them deserved to live. More than she did, anyways. There wasn't a thing that she could do about that. All of them were dead, and that was that. But she could at least stop herself from helping another District One jackass cut down the competition. Victor's Village in District One was already plenty crowded with just the two of them.

Glory had seemingly adopted a different approach. That didn't surprise Hailey. The ghosts and the ashes were never good company for her, and Hailey had hardly been a rock for the girl either. As much as Hailey despised the thought of another person moving into Victor's Village, walking along the burned buildings without ever having known or loved the people who were buried beneath the crumbling structures, she couldn't blame Glory for wanting it.

The young mentor was at the dining table with Troy and Vivian. Troy was dominating the conversation, speaking in a booming voice with every word that passed through his lips, pounding the table with his fist every time his laugh echoed through the room. For all their nerves and weariness, Glory and Vivian both seemed almost amused. Hailey wasn't. She sat at the edge of the room, opposite of their escort Valentina Valentine (Hailey had nearly puked when she heard the name for the first time up on stage) who seemed similarly disinterested with the main trio.

Vivian was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, her hands running up her sleeves and rubbing her arms anxiously. She reminded Hailey of Glory, almost. Hailey was hardly an expert at reading other people, but it didn't take a psychiatrist to see when a person was haunted. She was far too familiar with the feeling to miss it.

Troy did not remind Hailey of Glory. He was wearing tattered and hastily patched up training gear, black boiled leather putting together a piecemeal outfit that, combined with his healthy stubble, gave him a rugged sort of look. He looked like a full grown adult, and the image of Glory attempting to mentor him might have been funny if it weren't so sad.

"So," Hailey found herself asking, a healthy dose of bitter venom seeping into her voice. "What made you assholes decide to volunteer?"

Vivian tensed up at the question, looking thoroughly unhappy at Hailey's interruption. Troy shared no such disdain, a large grin spreading across his face as he waved Hailey over and pounded his mug of ginger ale on the table.

"Come, and I'll trade you, a question for a question!" He announced as boldly and tactlessly as always. As much as she hated it, she found it impossible to hold too much bitterness to the man. He was an idiot, and probably a jackass, but he was sincere at the very least. That was more than Hailey could say about most academy kids. Hesitantly, she walked over, sliding into the booth besides Glory, who seemed to brighten up even further at her presence. For a moment it almost seemed like they had a district team. Almost.

"Go ahead, then," Hailey said.

"It's a long story," he said, almost wistfully, certainly not as boastful or prideful as he had been up until then. He still smiled, though. "One I will not bore you with. No need to dampen a cheerful mood with tales of the past! I volunteer now, in the present, in order to fight as a true warrior in the arena!"

"True warrior?" Hailey asked. Glory tensed up beside her. "What, like, me and Glory?"

"I consider the both of you to be fierce warriors, however our paths are far different. You did not choose to fight, and should not have been forced to."

He sounded genuinely sympathetic, and it was nearly enough to cut through Hailey's defenses, but she shed off the feeling. She refused to feel empathy towards some jackass, sure of himself, egotistical academy kid.

"Oh, so like, Galavant then?" She tried.

He smiled at that. "Galavant was a valiant warrior, one I looked up to for much of my life, and I would be honored to be considered a warrior similar to him."

"Oh, so you can't wait 'till you can kill some innocent kid who got reaped in the finale then, huh? Just like all the rest of us District One _warriors_." She spat out that final word. She had spent so much of her life hating academy kids, and now here was another one who just saw the arena as some honorable game to play.

He managed to surprise Hailey again though, not reacting defensively or even proudly. Instead, he spoke in a somber tone. "He struck down one who was not a warrior, a mistake, one I do not intend to mirror. Yet despite his mistake, he was still a great warrior, and from the little that I knew of him, a good man. I look forward to drinking with him in Valhalla."

Hailey snorted at that, and made to stand up and walk away. She had spent enough time talking with the guy, if Glory wanted to try to play mentor and try to bring them home then that was her prerogative. Not hers.

"May I ask you my question, now?" Troy asked, bravado back in his voice as his chest pumped high in the air.

Hailey planted her hands on the table, sighing as she dropped back into her seat. "Sure, whatever."

"The arena, what was it like, truly?" He asked the question with the utmost seriousness, leaning forward with anticipation as Hailey dwelled on the question. She didn't know where to start. The arena filled her thoughts in every waking moment of the day. It dominated her nightmares and echoes and voices bounced around her head in drunken stupors. It was inescapable.

"Gal told me that the arena is hell," She said, enunciating each word as she picked through her thoughts. Tried to find words that could adequately describe what had come to haunt her. "He was wrong. It's worse than that. Hell is just where they send all the assholes like me to burn. Everybody who's there deserves anything they get. The arena isn't like that. Good people are in the arena. And you see them die, and you see their faces in the sky, and you see them die because of you. For you. And you see yourself killing them because you're too scared to do anything else. You want some mentorly advice? Do yourself a favor and die in that arena. Even if you do end up in hell, it'll still be better."

Everybody fell silent at that. Even Valentina looked over at Hailey, her interest momentarily piqued. Glory bit her lip and stared at her lap, while Vivian attempted to stay stoic and block any sort of visible reaction. Troy was the only one who didn't seem to be shaken. He didn't even seem surprised.

"You think because you have done wrong, that you are a bad person?" Troy asked, but there was no doubt in his tone.

Hailey leaned in, refusing to back away from this fight. "I think I did wrong because I'm a bad person."

Troy locked gazes with her. "I think you're wrong," he said simply, with unadulterated confidence. "You'll find your redemption, yet."

Hailey snorted, pushing herself back into her chair. "And what makes you believe that?"

He smiled. "Nothing. Just belief."

Hailey paused at that. "Alright," she said gruffly. The venom had left her voice now, though. "I have one more question."

"I have no more questions for you at the moment," Troy said, seemingly forgetting the previous conversation and defaulting back to his normal, loud, assured self. "Ask freely!"

"Why do you want to win?" She asked.

Troy laughed, bringing his arms behind his head as he leaned into his seat. "Who ever said that I wanted to?"

Hailey stared at him for a moment, waiting for the façade to crack, for something else to come spilling out. But nothing came. He was an idiot alright, boastful and way too loud for Hailey to ever be able to stand. But no, he was still genuine. And well, she decided that might be enough.

"Okay," she said, a slight quiver in her voice that she quickly swallowed, steeling her resolve and tossing aside her reservations. "I'll do it."

Troy raised an eyebrow at her, and Glory looked up at her in confusion. Hailey swallowed the lump in her throat, and took in a deep breath. "I'll be your mentor."

**Nikola Surge, 17, District Five**

He had smiled on stage. Nikola was the perfect image of confidence and self-assurance. Just like he always was, suave, calm, collected, ready for anything, and always in control. How quickly that façade crumbled when he was left alone.

His mentor had been distant, attempting to offer advice and kindness while trying to avoid attachment. Smart, Nikola couldn't blame her for it. There was no room for creating attachments where he was headed. Still, he was controlled enough to interact with others, form those attachments from their side and leave enough space for him to willingly discard them once they stopped being of use. He would have to try to get closer to Audra, anything to ensure that sponsors were flooding him with gifts.

Once it became clear that the discussion with his mentor and escort was going nowhere, and that his fellow tribute was unlikely to speak, he had retired to his room. He wasn't sure what had made him start crying. Maybe it was the fear. Death was so ultimate, so abrupt. Perhaps shock had just overridden him. Deep down, he wondered if it was the loss of control that had led him to slip into despair. Everything he had done was all for nothing. He didn't even have time to digest what that meant. Solario, the business, his mother, all of it, all of them, they swirled around his head in a whirlwind and he found himself unable to find the calming eye in the storm.

It was nearly nighttime by the time he emerged from his room, freshly showered and showing no signs or even a hint of stress. His mind was calmer, too. He still was in desperate need of a cigarette, or a canvas to put paint on, something to throw his emotions onto so that they stopped bothering him. But he would have to make do.

He slid into the dining room just as the reaping recap was beginning on the television, and was relieved to find the room empty. Nikola knew that he would have to turn his charm back on. He would need to go out and woo the audience, and make sure the right people were in love with every aspect of him. But still, a bit more of a reprieve was appreciated. When the time came, he would be ready. Just. . . if that time could be a little bit further away, he wouldn't complain. One good night's rest and he would be prepared. He would have to be.

The reaping recap started in District One, and Nikola began to make mental note of the tributes that he would need to watch out for. More importantly, he watched for the ones that he could find use for, the ones he could poke and pull at so that they worked to fit his needs. None of the Careers fit that bill, though the 12-year-old volunteer from Two was enough for him to make mental note of. If she ended up left out of the Career alliance she could be an interesting ally. Enough to bring in intrigue from the Capitol, and maybe a weapon in a surprising package that others would underestimate.

The volunteer from Nine was the next to grab his attention. A volunteer who proclaimed that he was immortal. A careful stroking of the ego and he would be eating out of the palm of Nikola's hand. Probably not of much use with how unstable he appeared, but perhaps a useful weapon, or distraction at the very least, at the bloodbath.

He made note of the next twelve-year-old to be reaped. As the small, timid boy made his way up the stage nearly all of the Peacekeepers offered him a salute, and the mayor seemed sad as he welcomed the boy up on stage.

The most interesting reaping of all came in a surprising place, however. The boy reaped in District Twelve seemed unassuming at first, and Nikola was ready to skip over him until Coira Thompson filled in the audience on exactly who this boy was. One of twenty-five students accepted into Pioneer University, and a beloved member of the community. Practically a Capitolite, and he was headed into the Games. Forget leaching Audra into a relationship in order to gain sponsors, his golden ticket would come in the shape of a stuttering boy from Twelve.

Denver Lyon, Jamie Curie, and Lana Birkhead. He repeated the names in his head, and set himself in on those targets. He wouldn't be able to speak to any of them at the chariots, they were too far from Five for it to be natural. No, he would have to wait until training. That gave him plenty of time to work through whatever issues were messing with his mojo.

"Oh, hey Nikola." Audra stood awkwardly by the door, one foot already halfway out of the train car.

"Audra," he said with an air of suave charisma. He flashed a smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She stared right through him, completely unaffected. "I didn't realize you were here. I was just going to get some coffee."

"A bit late for coffee, already hard at work to keep me alive, huh? They're about to show the reaping recap again if you want to watch them." He slid over to one side of the sofa, making room for his mentor.

Audra didn't move. She folded her arms over her chest and looked to the side. "I don't watch the reaping recaps. I was just working on some sponsor forms for you and your district partner."

Nikola slighted a curious smile. "Why don't you watch them?"

Audra pushed away from the door, setting a hard gaze on Nikola as she approached him. She stopped just short of the sofa. "What is it that you're getting at?"

"I'm not sure I understand," Nikola said innocently.

"I know who you are," she said darkly. "Nikola Surge. Surge. As in Surge Industries."

Nikola shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He managed to keep a confused smile and innocent features as he shrugged, backing away from Audra ever so slightly. "I work in the HR department of my father's business, yes. I didn't realize you disliked HR so much," he joked.

Audra didn't back down. She placed her hands on the back of the couch, a fire burning in her eyes as she leaned in close to him. Venom and disdain dripped from her tongue with every word. "Let's make one thing very clear. It doesn't matter how charming you act, or how much you dazzle the crowd. No matter how many sponsors you win over, it won't mean a single thing if I don't decide to spend that money they give you. So listen up and listen closely, because I don't want to so much as look your way the rest of the time we're in the Capitol. If you try and harm that girl? If you, or one of your allies, even so much as touches her in that arena, I will make sure that you die in there."

Nikola kept his smile in place, but dropped the pleasantries from his tone. "Is that a threat?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she said firmly, not backing down in the slightest.

The two stood in silence for a while. Audra's eyes burned with barely tamed rage as her eyes bore into his. He reflected back no sort of response, keeping a blank, assured slate across his features. Nikola had to maintain that control of the situation, even if he didn't know how. He wasn't sure how she knew about Surge Industries, or more worryingly, what the true nature of the business was. Perhaps it was for the best he had gotten out of the district if their hidden function had been discovered.

Regardless, this girl may have thought she had him figured out, but she didn't know anything. About who he was, or what he had done, or why he did what he did. She didn't have the slightest clue who it was she was messing with. Nikola had dealt with people far worse than Audra Lee could even imagine, and he had come out on top again and again.

Still though, he backed down, leaning away from her and shrugging. A knowing smile crossed his lips. "I have no interest in her, so you can stop worrying. A mute little girl who doesn't even seem to know where she is? Not my first choice of ally. I'll give you my sympathies when I see her face in the sky the first night."

"I'll make sure to give you a nice eulogy," she promised.

He laughed at that, his laughter trailing off and fading into a light chuckle as she turned and left the room. It was a shame, he almost liked her. She certainly had more fire than he had anticipated. But still, it was no large setback. He had found his mentor's weakness, and he had every intention of exploiting it.

Nikola Surge always got what he wanted. No matter how much abuse and pain he had to take. No matter what filth and grime he had to wade through. No matter the cost, he always came out on top. The list flicked through his mind one last time.

Denver Lyon, Jamie Curie, Lana Birkhead, and the nameless girl from District Five.

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**A/N: So excited to have the pre-games underway, with all of these lovely characters interacting with one another. Second half of the train rides is up next!**

**Trivia (1 point): You get reaped. Which one of the victors do you want mentoring you? (not too many choices here lol)**


	15. Train Rides 2: Rainbow Connections

"Rainbow Connections"

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**A/N: Back again. Enjoy the second half of the train rides!**

* * *

_~Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection_

_The lovers, the dreamers and me~_

* * *

**Vivian Ostera, 18, District One**

Vivian was surprised to still be awake. The District One team had spent most of the day chatting, or more accurately, Troy had spent most of the day speaking to the rest of them. Not that she particularly minded. There wasn't anything that she wanted to open up about. She was just barely holding herself together, and now wasn't the time to let her insecurities and fears spill out. Just a few more weeks and she would be better. There wouldn't be any need to pretend she was okay, that she was fine. She just would be.

Glory had been the first to slink off to bed, followed shortly after by Valentina, who made a snarky remark that they were all in dire need of some beauty rest. Vivian decided rest wasn't a half-bad idea, and was the next to leave. Hailey and Troy's voices had carried on for a while after.

But no matter how tightly Vivian shut her eyes, sleep wouldn't come. It was midnight by the time she gave up on sleep and crawled out of bed. She found herself wandering into the kitchen, taking a cup of hot chocolate offered to her by an Avox, finding a couch overlooking a wall-sized window, and curling up.

The silky taste of chocolate reminded her of her Aunts' house. Of the winter's first snow. Comfort, safety, home. The window was useless, the outside world too dark to see much of anything, and the train moving too quickly for it to be more than a blur anyways. There was a television if it was a distraction that she was searching for, but she opted against it. She had already watched the reaping recap three times since the train rides had started. For now, well, she wasn't quite sure what she wanted. Quiet, maybe. But no, that wasn't it. What she wanted was something intangible, like a word stuck on the tip of the tongue, trapped behind clenched teeth and pursed lips and fighting to be freed.

She didn't realize Troy was still in the train car until his voice boomed out. "Vivian! You were so silent, I hadn't noticed you!" The hot chocolate nearly lept out of her hands as she jumped to a start.

Troy was on the other side of the train car, looking out the opposite window, a piece of paper carefully held in his hands as he smiled widely at her. She shifted in her seat, her eyes darting around the room. A modicum of comfort fell over her when she noticed two Avoxes still standing by the doors of the room.

"Hey," she said, quietly. She turned away from him and back to the window, holding the mug close to her face and inhaling the smell.

"I am surprised to see you awake at this hour! Is all well?" He sounded genuinely concerned, his footsteps loudly clapping against the ground as he stomped towards her.

"I'm fine, why are you awake?" She deflected, turning to face him as she set down her mug.

"Just thinking." He smiled sadly. "And you?"

"Same," she said. A quiet fell over the two of them, Troy keeping a comfortable distance as he attempted to keep a bold smile up. It faltered every time that he looked down at the paper he was holding. "What's that?" She asked eventually.

"Oh, nothing," he said, and he sounded almost embarrassed, or at least not as confident as normal. Vivian had only met Troy proper a month ago, yet in that short time had gotten to know someone who was anything but meek or quiet. He seemed to sense that answer wasn't enough, and tacked on, "It's just my token. A memory. They would not let me bring the whole book, so I had to rip out just a page."

"I didn't bring a token," Vivian said, almost dismissively. Her voice softened. "I don't need any reminders."

He hesitated, took a half-step forward, then gestured to the couch. "May I sit? That is, if you wouldn't be bothered."

Vivian shifted uncomfortably, but made room anyways, scooting to the opposite side of the long sofa. "Go ahead," she said.

Troy smiled gratefully. "My thanks," he said. He ran a hand gently along the paper, smoothing it out as his eyes traced across the page. "Pain can make us stronger, sometimes," he said, seemingly half to himself.

"Yeah, everything happens for a reason." Those words were a constant in her life, a mantra that kept her going. A line of thinking that had brought her here. They didn't seem to convince her anymore.

Troy nodded, smiled, opened his mouth, closed it, then hesitantly said, "This is from a book. It belonged to my parents. It was Idun's favorite." His smile grew at that. "My sister," he clarified.

"Was," Vivian echoed quietly.

"Was," Troy confirmed. His voice strengthened as he held the paper up, a confidence in his tone as he raised his chin. "But there is no use in growing sad about what has not yet been lost. Not forever. We will meet again, someday very soon. Of that I am sure."

Vivian scoured the page, her eyes landing across the large, bolded header at the top of the page. "Valhalla," she murmured.

"Valhalla," Troy repeated. "The final resting place for all great warriors. A grand hall where warriors of valour and courage feast and drink, sharing stories and preparing for Ragnarok." His voice quieted, but his bold smile stayed in place. "The place where my family and I will meet again. I will have many stories to share with them."

Vivian eyed him curiously. She waited for him to burst into laughter, to explain that it was all just a joke, but it didn't come. For anything else there was to say about Troy Magnison, he was as sincere as ever. Doubt and pity flirted in her mind, but she wasn't able to bring herself to vocalize it.

Ever since Jormun, the world had seemed darker, more distrustful. Bad intentions lurked behind every kind word or thoughtful gesture. It felt like she was living in a shrouded reality, one that seemed to lock even her own inner thoughts in a confused haze. Nothing was certain. But maybe this could be.

"You really believe that?" She asked gently.

"I do," he said. "I hope to meet you there someday, so that you may see it with your own eyes."

"You said that it's a place for people who are brave?" She smiled sadly, her arms running up her sleeves and tracing the edges of her scars. "Don't expect to find me there then."

"I do not expect to find you there. I know that you will be there. You are the most courageous person I have yet met."

"You got me wrong," she said quietly. "That isn't who I am. No matter what, no matter where I am, I'm always scared. I have been for a long time."

Troy seemed unfazed, smiling as he spoke with unwavering confidence. "Courage is not an absence of fear. It is a rejection of it. A warrior who fights even in the face of insurmountable fear? I can think of nobody who would be more at home in the halls of Valhalla."

Vivian's eyes shimmered as she stared at the man sitting across from her. She blinked, opening up her palms and staring down at the jagged scars that ran across them. Scars from the night where she lost everything. Scars that still burned, causing fear to overwhelm her in every waking moment. Scars that would always remind her of the trust and faith that had been shattered. Scars from when, even with all of that pain and fear, she fought.

Her fists clenched, and she looked up, a glimmer in her eyes. "You really mean that?" She asked, but it was more of a statement, a realization of something impossible.

Troy smiled. "Would you do me the honor of humoring me, and letting me tell you a story? It's a good one, I promise you. A story of gods and tricksters, epic battles and dire prophecies. Of Valhalla. It was always Idun's favorite."

Vivian tugged at her sleeves and smiled. A real smile, the first one in a long time. "That sounds nice."

**Sparrow Kalani, 12, District Twelve**

Night had given way to early morning, and yet still Sparrow's eyes refused to close. Stars twinkled in her eyes as she absorbed everything around her. There were more books than she knew existed, and then there was the television with its vibrant colors and dazzling scenes. She found a remote that changed the walls, making it so she appeared to be in some foreign environment. There were polar ice caps, calming ocean waves, noisy rainforests, and so much more. Everything raced around her, this giant world that she was just now realizing existed, and left her too stunned to do anything but lay back in her bed and take it all in.

Those first moments after being reaped were the most terrifying of her life. She had frozen, like she was caught in a moment, knowing the end was suddenly approaching. It was like she was reading the last page of a book. She could pause and savor each moment, but still there was that constant reminder of the end in the corner of her eye. Every story had to end eventually. Sometimes though, it can hook you in enough that you don't realize the end has happened until it's already passed.

They had let Sparrow take her jacket as her token, and she was glad for that. Mrs. Wren had offered to let her keep the book she had lent her as her token if she wanted, but Sparrow had said no to that. Maybe if she could leave that story unfinished, unending, then her story wouldn't have to end either. Those final pages would be waiting for her, and someday she would return to them, and read off those final words. But not yet. Not so soon.

She hugged herself tightly, burying her face in the grey fabric of the jacket. Sparrow imagined her mom's arms were the ones that wore her old jacket, and she clung tighter, desperate for that comfort that had been gone for so long.

Sparrow reached over for the remote, clicking the scenery away and sending the room back to its static, grey normalcy. She turned the television off too, the sounds of some bombastic action movie abruptly cutting off. A half-dozen books were sprawled across the top of her covers, and she shook them off, her bare feet touching down on the carpet as she stumbled to her feet.

She wobbled to her feet, barely holding herself up as her head throbbed and the edges of her vision blurred. The day before she hadn't slept either, too caught up in the world of the book she had freshly started, and it was starting to get to her. She had hardly eaten either, skipping over breakfast and dinner to escape the noise of her home. A sandwich that Mr. Wren had given her the day before was all she had eaten, and her stomach rumbled in protest.

Sparrow made for the dining room. Water was her first target, itching the scratch in her throat and returning enough energy for her to ask one of the Avoxes for some food. He had looked confused at that, but was unable to ask for clarification, and so off he went, coming back balancing a large platter filled with a varied assortment of snacks.

She settled for a peanut butter sandwich, feeling comfort in the familiarity and distrust of the peculiar Capitol delicacies. She muttered a quiet apology to the Avox for having him make all that food just for her, and for waking him maybe if he had been sleeping.

The couch served as her dining table, the passing by scenery serving as her entertainment. It was still early, and the sun didn't even threaten to spill over the horizon, leaving the world draped in a shadowy darkness. The lights of the train were enough to make out shapes, though, and she found comfort watching the outlines of trees racing by the glass windows. Her peanut butter sandwich rested on her lap in between forced nibbles.

Truthfully, Sparrow was unsure if she could hold the food in at all. Fear made her queasy, more than any amount of hunger or sickness could. She didn't want the comfort, anyways. She wasn't looking for a remedy to slip her off to a restful sleep. Her moments were ticking away, the pages thinning, and she didn't want to waste a single moment of her time. She extended every minute as much as she could, absorbed every sense and echoed every thought, but it still wasn't enough.

She saw her mom slipping away in front of her again. Those final sickly days as she slowly faded away, her heart slowing, her breath growing fainter, her words quieter. No matter how hard she tried to slow down those final moments, the end came all the same. And now that she was past the end, it felt like there was never a time when her mom's story was still being told. It was always just an epilogue, looking back at a time that seemingly never even was.

"Mom?" She asked in a broken voice, like glass that had already shattered and was now reverberating, echoing on.

The world outside the windows of the train car was blurry enough, painted in just the right amount of darkness that she could trick herself into believing that she was speaking to something more than just trees quickly passing by. She imagined that somewhere out there her mom was there, listening, and it didn't matter whether or not she believed if it were true. Imagining was enough.

"I miss you. I promise I do," she said in her quiet, slow voice. "I'm sorry I never cried. I don't know why I can't ever just cry." She bit her lip and lowered her gaze. "I promise I cared. I hope you know that."

The trees gave no response but the rushing of air as she swept past them.

"I haven't cried yet," she continued. "About the reaping, I mean. I was scared when they called my name. I couldn't even breathe for a bit."

She paused, her words trailing off into an unanswering void as she sat in still quietness.

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there? You always told me that there wasn't, that I was just special, and that was a good thing." She tugged at her sleeves, her voice dropping even quieter so that it was hardly even an audible whisper. "It never feels like a good thing."

Not even the wind offered a response to that.

On the table besides the sofa, the Avox had set some silverware and napkins. Sparrow's hands flirted across the table, dancing over the metallic silverware as her fingers brushed around the handle of a knife. She took it in her hands and gently pressed down on the table, watching as a tiny mark appeared in the wood.

Words flashed across her memory. Words carved into wood in a book she had left unfinished. Silent words of not rebellion, not hope, but strength. Inner strength, a promise to never give up, to not be grinded down to dust.

Her grip around the handle tightened as she knelt down and began carving into the side of the table, low down and just barely out of view, hidden in plain sight. The knife dropped from her hand as she finished the last letter, her arm pinched with stress as she viewed the words before her. Her silent promise.

_Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_

Maybe that could be enough.

**Lana Birkhead, 12, District Two**

She was up early. The routine had been built into her, her eyes opening without resistance before the first slivers of light had even begun to poke over the horizon. She climbed to her feet, still dressed in the training fatigues of the previous day, and exited her room. The escort had confined her to her room nearly as soon as they had entered the train. She overheard a commotion from outside her door, an argument of sorts. The escort claimed she wasn't supposed to volunteer, and would surely cause trouble. Her district partner, Talon Olympus, had seemed less concerned. Still, she had spent the day cooped up in her room. Nothing inside of the room made any sense to her, and so she hadn't touched a thing except for the bed. She didn't want to cause any trouble. Failure wasn't an option. The man had told her so. Now more than ever before.

So she explored the train quietly, slipping from car to car and silently observing. Most of the cars were filled with closed doors that she hadn't attempted to open. A few of them offered up large windows and sitting areas. She passed by the dining room that they had first entered in from at one point, and allowed herself a single moment to take in the grandeur of the room before moving on.

Less than a half-hour had passed by the time she reached the end of the train. It was a circular room, fitted with a handful of fancy dining tables and long, elegant couches. Nearly the entire wall was a window, and multiple chandeliers hung from the ceiling. And the room wasn't empty.

Talon Olympus was sitting on one of the couches, half-looking out the window as he chewed on some taffy. His attention switched to the girl as she walked into the room. She froze in place, eyes scanning her surroundings. A table set with sharp metallic knives. Two exits, both on the side of the room she currently occupied.

"Hey," Talon said casually. He gestured to the couch. "Early riser, huh?"

She nodded her head. Talon waited a few moments before realizing she wasn't going to take a seat. She stood in front of him, perfectly still, eyes still scanning the room.

"So, what's your name?" Talon asked, popping another piece of taffy into his mouth.

"Lana Birkhead," the girl said, her voice automatic and stiff.

He nodded. "Right. And what do you like to go by?"

She eyed him curiously, tilting her head as she gazed at his blank expression. "My name is Lana Birkhead."

"Course." He stretched out his arms, a yawn escaping from him as he settled back into his seat. "Well, my name is Talon. Since we're both awake, you want to sit and talk?"

"What about?" She asked, hesitantly.

Talon shrugged. "Whatever. I'm an open book and a patient listener." He popped another piece of taffy. "Can't help but be a tad bit curious about why a twelve-year-old girl volunteered, to be quite honest."

"Failure's not an option," she replied in answer.

He raised an eyebrow, but showed no other reaction. He had an uncanny demeanor, a smirking, nonchalant mask that shielded any signs of what was underneath. The girl decided he didn't seem malevolent, but there was something abnormal about him.

"Failure's not an option," Talon echoed. He thought on that for a moment, then shrugged. "Pretty fitting slogan for the Hunger Games, I guess. Not quite an answer for _why _you volunteered, though."

"You haven't said why you volunteered," she said, blankly staring through him.

Talon snorted. "Touché." He paused, then nodded his head and stood up. "Tell you what, you were cooped up in that room all day yesterday, you probably haven't even eaten yet. What do you say we go grab some breakfast, huh? You know, food. Kinda important."

She took a half-step back as he stood up, her eyes flirting to the knives on the nearby table. Her stomach growled at her though, and she stood aside, letting Talon walk out of the room and trailing behind him. Before she left the room, she quickly grabbed one of the knives, sliding it into her back pocket.

They walked in silence until they got to the dining room. Talon dismissed the Avox who came up to help him. He hopped over the counter into the kitchen, and the girl climbed up onto one of the stools, her hands folded in her lap as she watched him search through cabinets and drawers.

He ducked below the counter, then popped back up, an inquisitive look as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"Now," he said. He tapped a finger to his chin. "If Dashiel or Amethyst were here, they'd probably tell us to eat a healthy, nutrient rich, vitamin heavy breakfast. But," he made a show of leaning over the counter and peering back and forth. "I don't see them here." He brought up a box of cereal, shaking it and pounding it on the counter.

She gave him an odd look, then looked down at the box, examining it closely. While she did that, Talon dug out a few more boxes, bags, and cups, and in a moment had a makeshift breakfast laid out in front of the two of them.

"Now, allow me to have the honor of introducing you to such fine delicacies as," Talon stopped his speech to quickly read the labels. "Well, mostly just candy and cereal."

"Candy and cereal?" The girl asked curiously. She picked up the bowl that Talon had curated for her, sifting through gummy bears, taffy, chocolate cereal, and licorice.

"It's pretty fantastic," Talon said, creating a bowl for himself. "Have you ever had any food that's sweet?"

"Sweet?" She asked. "Like people?"

He paused, stopping midway through pouring his cereal to give her a curious look. "I'm going to assume you mean the personality trait, and not that human flesh tastes sweet." He turned to his cereal, then back to her, and raised a finer. "You haven't eaten people, have you?"

She tilted her head, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Right, well, that's good. Look how much we're getting to know each other already. We have so much in common. You don't eat people, I don't eat people. Great times."

The girl looked down at her bowl of colorful food and poked it.

Talon tossed her a spoon that she deftly caught before it could smack her in the head. She glared at him, and he just shrugged. Not breaking eye contact, she hesitantly took a spoonful of the assortment and shoved it into her mouth.

The flavor was overwhelming, sweet sugar assaulting her taste buds as she chewed through the different layers of flavor. Her body shivered as she swallowed the last bit of taffy that clung to the roof of her mouth, and she decided she wasn't sure whether she liked or hated it.

"You really haven't ever had any food that's sweet before, have you?" Talon was looking at her bemusedly. He planted his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his fists as he leaned forward, looking over her. "Now aren't you just the strangest thing. What is your story?"

She slid the bowl towards him. "Your food tastes gross," she stated simply.

"What, this stuff? Yeah, it's disgusting. I'll grab us some bananas and a few cups of hot chocolate." He pushed off of the counter, tossing her a banana before going off in search of hot chocolate.

She relished in the familiarity and routineness of the yellow fruit, munching straight through the peel as she devoured one, two, three, and then a fourth banana. Talon only showed a flicker of bemusement at the banana's total disappearance. He slid a full mug of light brown liquid in front of her, topped with a white foam.

"It's hot, careful with it," he said.

She looked at him, unsure.

"It tastes good, promise. Whip cream might give you a bit of a sugar high, but the drink is just the right amount of sweet."

The girl was still unconvinced, and waited for Talon to go first. He shrugged, downing the mug in one massive gulp that emptied half of the cup. The whip cream stuck to his lips, leaving him with a white foam mustache. The girl involuntarily let out a quiet giggle at the image, then quickly stifled it, covering her mouth and averting her gaze to the floor.

Talon began laughing. "What, never seen a foam mustache before?" He asked. "Go ahead, try it out." Lana looked up and he motioned to the mug in front of her.

Tentatively, she reached out. The mug was hot to the touch, and she clamped her palms around the cup, gripping it tightly as she brought it to her lips. She took a quick swig, the drink going easily down her throat without the painful sweetness of the breakfast bowl Talon had made.

Curiously, she brought up a finger to her mouth, poking the skin right above her lip. Her finger came back tipped in whip cream, and she popped her finger in her mouth, sucking the foam off. A slight smile slipped easily into place. She almost forgot where she was for a moment. It didn't take long for it all to come rushing back.

Where she was. Who she was. What she had to do.

Familiar words shouted from a back corner of her brain. Failure is not an option.

She quickly brought up her sleeve, wiping away the foam off of her mouth. She pushed the mug away from her, knocking it over in a panic and causing the liquid to pour over the counter.

Talon looked at her oddly, but said nothing as she stuffed her hands into her pockets, turned around, and quickly took off, out of the dining room, through the hallway, and away from candy cereal, hot chocolate, and foam mustaches.

* * *

**A/N: I really loved getting to explore these three lovely characters, and am super excited for everything I have planned for them. Next chapter takes us to the Capitol as we see the Chariot Rides with Coira and Talon. See you all there, and be sure to let me know what you think!**

**Trivia (1 point): Which has been your favorite district team so far?**

**Trivia (1 point): The Careers will meet for the first time next chapter, any predictions for how that meeting will go?**


	16. Parade: Shattered Illusions

"Shattered Illusions"

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**A/N: Surprise update. Gonna be moving to weekly updates from here on out. I've got a decent stockpile going, and I'm excited to get this story running and into the Games!**

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_~I'm not scared of the dark_

_I'm not running, running, running_

_No, I'm not afraid of the fall_

_I'm not scared, not at all~_

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**Coira Thompson, 33, Hunger Games Interviewer**

It was all surreal still. She could remember so vividly her first day seeing the chariots. She was seven years old, and was sitting in the exact booth she was in now, next to Apollo and watching as the seventy-sixth Hunger Games began. Even back then everything seemed off. It didn't feel like reality. That feeling only got stronger when it was her that was on camera, microphone attached to her chest as she would announce the arrival of the freshest batch of tributes to be offered up as a sacrifice.

It certainly didn't feel real now. Fabio Flickerman was beside her, the loud-mouthed man having a flair for the dramatic, and doing a good job of representing the typical Capitolite viewer and where their gaze landed during the chariots. That didn't make it feel any less gross.

She was in the booth, though. Coira Thompson, Hunger Games Interviewer, second year running. She still wasn't certain why she was taking on the task. It wasn't a job she had ever even wanted in the first place. It had been thrusted upon her during the one-hundred and first, and now it was happening again. It felt wrong to her, walking down that path that Apollo had already treaded. But Jaycen's words haunted her. This was her responsibility, one way or another. What that meant, she would have to find out for herself.

For now, she didn't feel like she had some grand responsibility or purpose. Coira traded lame jokes and quips with Fabio as they prepared for District One to enter. They joked about first impressions, mostly at the expense of Arkus' declaration of immortality following his volunteering, and made menial predictions about chariot outfits. Coira was tuning herself out, keeping an eye on Connie. Her daughter was thrilled to be in the booth, her head planted against the glass window as she peered down, waiting for the gates to open.

Just as Coira was running out of meaningless topics to tread through, District One finally made their entrance. Troy was already a star, and his outfit only accentuated that. The duo were both made into mythological gods and goddesses. Troy stood confident, exuding strength in his scant clothing that made sure to reveal his muscular frame. Blue paint in the shape of lightning bolts were tattooed across his forehead and arms, and he held a hammer high in the air, screaming and cheering out in excitement as he pumped up the crowd.

Vivian was nearly lost in the commotion beside him, but their outfit was more than enough to draw attention to the other half of the District One team. They were dressed in a beautiful, heavenly dress that seemed to be made out of barely held together clouds, flowers, and dirt. They didn't offer any sort of smile or excitement, but they kept their head held high, acknowledging the crowd cheering for them. That ended up being enough to earn them their fair share of attention and love, hundreds of flowers thrown in the direction of the District One team.

The District Two duo was nearly lost in the excitement of Vivian and Troy, but their outfits managed to steal enough attention. The two were unified, as odd of an image as that was. Talon stood tall and confident, and while Lana was far shorter, she matched his confidence, the two both wearing a casually confident smirk, eyes set forward, too cool to so much as notice the crowd. Both were donned in tattered, worn-in leather and cloth, war paint covering their entire bodies. Talon leaned on the hilt of a longsword, while Lana held two steel daggers with a reverse grip. While District One looked stunning, District Two looked deadly.

District Three lost some of the momentum, but managed to keep up the energy thanks to the star-power of the two charismatic tributes. Ty and Julie both were beyond charming, winning over the crowd with their unified charm. They were both dressed as university students, slacks and white button-ups that they both left unbuttoned at the top, their ties both laying loose and untied around their necks. Their outfits faded to the background as the two put in work to win over the crowd, waving, winking, blowing kisses, posing, and laughing. Both of them were clearly having a blast being on stage, and were naturals at what they were doing. The crowd reaction was shockingly just as enthusiastic as the Careers.

The final Career district was quick to earn back the attention as they entered the spotlight. Coira grimaced inwardly at the outfit, even as outwardly she put up a front of shocked excitement and intrigue. Fabio took over, gushing about how they were brilliant, naturally. Connie stuck out her tongue, turning her attention back to the District Three duo.

Aphrodite and Logan were dressed in nothing but a fishnet that did little to cover up their revealing bits aside from a few small knots that barely obscured the view. The crowd went wild at the outfit, the crowd favorite Aphrodite winning even more popularity as she winked and blew kisses, striking revealing poses. Logan went nearly entirely unnoticed, shifting uncomfortably as he shuffled away from his district partner.

The crowd went noticeably quieter once the inner districts were finished with their chariots. District Five put in a lame, uninspired outfit, the two dressed as suburbanites. Both were given a suit and tie, as well as a briefcase, which did little to accentuate Nikola's respectable attempts at charm. River looked admittedly cute in the getup which was, possibly intentionally, much too large for her, and that salvaged the district enough to make it at least forgettable.

Both the District Six tributes were ecstatic in their pilot outfits, showing more enthusiasm for the tried and true chariot outfit of Six than any of the crowd. Still, their excitement was contagious, with Julian jumping up and down in place and Earhart waving their arms out, pretending they were an airplane. They managed to slide firmly into the forgettable category.

District Seven offered some more flavor. Juniper was stunning, dressed as a wood nymph, with a forest green dress covered in apple blossoms and topped with a flower crown. She was breathtaking, and played the part admirably, winning the most favor from the crowd since Aphrodite. Vesa could count his lucky stars to be overlooked, dressed lamely as a lumberjack, and looking thoroughly annoyed with his current situation, shoulders slumped as he avoided gazing at the crowd.

District Eight's outfit was odd, the duo dressed as gangsters, complete with a grey mafia aesthetic, Tommy guns slung over their shoulders and cigars hanging from their mouths. They might have been forgettable if not for how confusing the outfit was for District Eight, which, combined with Udon's grumpy demeanor, was enough to firmly cement themselves as the worst chariot of the night. Inesa at least put in a respectable attempt to salvage the situation, waving and smiling, but the sweet demeanor didn't go well with her outfit, and only drew attention to how odd and out of place it was.

Lucky for both of them, District Nine blew them out of the water, easily claiming the position of worst outfit of the night. Both Maya and Arkus were dressed as silos of grain, and the outfits didn't allow either of the tributes any mobility. Both of them were stuck in place, unable to move, hardly able to even lift their hand up to wave at the crowd. Arkus was screaming some incomprehensible babbling, while Maya just smiled sheepishly, clearly aware of the ridiculousness of her outfit.

District Ten went back to the normal outfits, and benefited from it. The two were both dressed as cowboys, and while Persephone sulked and shot daggers at the crowd, Jamie put his best face forward. He shyly waved out at the crowd, the youngest of the twenty-four tributes looking thoroughly adorable in his outfit, earning a respectable amount of applause and "awws" from the audience.

District Eleven was fairly forgettable, Ciera thrown in a sunflower outfit which covered her entire body except for her face. It might have looked cute with a younger kid, but with the eighteen-year-old woman it looked a bit silly and childish, particularly next to Marquise. The oldest of the tributes looked the part, dressed as a field-hand and looking calm as he stood in his chariot, looking completely unfazed by the crowd. He didn't even seem to notice the audience, whistling as he fiddled with the gloves on his hands.

Finally, District Twelve topped off the night with their typical mediocrity. Thanks to the stigma behind "the girl on fire," coal miner was just about the only available option. Even the charismatic, lovable crowd favorite Denver was unable to inspire much enthusiasm, as much as he tried. He managed to earn some meager applause, but most quickly switched their attention back to the more interesting outfits that the night had offered.

The president gave his usual speech, the chariots did one last lap, and then circled into the training center. Coira let out a relieved breath as the doors closed behind them. The feed cut away from Coira, and she shuffled around her papers, mentally preparing herself for the next few hours of non-stop Games coverage that was about to follow.

She knew what it was she was getting herself into. For her, getting invested in the lives of the twenty-four tributes wasn't like getting attached to a television character. The reality of what the Games were was laid out far too clearly in front of her, the lives of twenty-four children hanging precariously in the balance, all ready to fall off the tightrope they were balancing on and into oblivion.

Connie tugged at her shirt, and Coira forced a smile onto her face as she looked down at her beaming daughter. This was the world that she was immersed in, and she didn't get to abandon it just because it was hard. As much as she hated to admit it, Jaycen was right. The world needed people who cared. She certainly wasn't perfect, but she cared. And maybe that could be enough to start to change things.

**Talon Olympus, 18, District Two**

The most pivotal moment of the entire Hunger Games was about to take place. If Talon were able to be scared, this would be a moment that would have him quaking in his boots. Or at the very least give him a slight burst of nervous energy. He felt none of that, though, only a calming sense of purpose as the District One and Four duos congregated around his chariot.

Now that the instructions their stylist had given her had been fulfilled, Lana seemed unsure what to do with herself. She hopped out of the chariot, wandered around aimlessly for a moment, then settled on standing beside Talon. She held tightly to her daggers, which Talon decided was a nice touch. The other Careers were playing dress up, while he and Lana were equipped with (dulled) weapons and intimidating war paint. He could chalk that up as an early victory.

Logan and Aphrodite joined them first, Logan looking minorly uncomfortable while Aphrodite winked at him and stretched out her muscles. Talon didn't bother to even pretend to be interested. He stopped himself short of snorting and turning away, though. His omnipresent smirk probably gave her a certain impression that wasn't truthful, but he couldn't particularly care.

Vivian came up to the group with crossed arms, while Troy raised his arms in the air and cheered excitedly. "Greetings, fellow warriors!" He exclaimed.

Talon raised an eyebrow, finding himself amused, mostly at the confusion that overtook the rest of the group.

"Yeah, whatever," Aphrodite said. "Anyways, so, little girl is out of the pack, and we replace him with the crazy boy that volunteered, right?"

"Little girl stays, for now," Talon said firmly. He locked gazes with Aphrodite, who looked him up and down in distaste.

"Didn't realize the Careers were a babysitting service," she said snarkily.

Talon smiled, then kicked himself away from the chariot and into the center of the circle that had formed. "So, introductions, shall we? Why did you lot all volunteer?"

"What, is this an interview?" Logan said darkly.

Talon's smile widened, and he shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."

Troy interjected before anyone else was given a chance to protest. "I volunteer to fight and die in honor, battling true warriors!" His chest was puffed outwards, his chin lifted as he wore a confident smile.

"No way, really?" Talon asked in an excited tone. "I volunteered for the same reason!"

Troy looked pleasantly surprised. "Truly?"

"No, of course not, that's fucking stupid," Talon said bluntly. Troy deflated.

"So you got some great reason then, asshole?" Vivian spoke up for the first time, arms crossed as they glared at Talon.

Talon chuckled and went back to his spot at the edge of the circle, leaning against his chariot. Lana was now staring daggers at Vivian, her actual daggers clutched tightly in her hands. Talon made note of that development, then decided to defuse the situation.

"Just trying to keep the conversation interesting, don't mind me," he said casually. "Can't blame a guy for wanting to get to know his potential allies, can you? No hard feelings, huh big guy?"

"No hard feelings at all, friend!" Troy exclaimed, clasping his hands together and offering a hearty laugh. Talon's bewilderment continued to grow, and he wondered for a moment if the man was actually genuinely like that. It seemed almost unbelievable, but then again, these Games had already provided more than a few improbable twists. "I must correct you though, friend," Troy said, developing a more serious expression and tone. "I'm afraid I will not be standing side by side with you all as allies in the arena."

And on queue, improbable twists.

Even Vivian seemed shocked, their expression turning from distrust to disbelief as they turned to their district partner. Troy continued to explain. "As I stated, I volunteered to fight true warriors, of which you all are. The children from the other districts are no true warriors, and fighting them is no true fight at all. I look forward to battling you all, our fight will be fierce, a battle worthy of retelling in the halls of Valhalla!"

With that he turned and walked away, leaving no room for questions (of which there were many) or responses (of which there were few). They were all left shell shocked, nobody saying anything for a long moment as Troy marched over to his pair of mentors. Vivian took a moment to recollect themselves, then trailed after Troy, stumbling over their feet as they hurried to catch up.

"Well, what the fuck was that?" Aphrodite asked, turning between Logan and Talon.

"That was District One walking away from the Career alliance, it seems like," Talon hummed. "Again," he added. On reflection, he decided that shouldn't have been shocking. Three years in a row now of District One going their own way. It was practically tradition.

"So, another year of a three-person Career alliance, then?" Logan proposed.

"Hm?" Talon asked, turning to the District Four duo. "Oh, you mean you two?" He shrugged. "No thanks."

"What do you mean, no thanks?" Aphrodite demanded. "We're Careers, you don't just get to single handedly decide who's in and who's out."

Talon looked to his right, then to his left, and for good measure leaned around the chariot and looked behind him. "Well, I think I just did. But if it really makes you feel better, you two can go ahead and call yourselves the Careers, and pretend that you two kicked me out."

"So what, you're gonna go into the arena with a kid instead?" Aphrodite mocked, still looking to be in utter disbelief.

"Maybe." Talon shrugged. "I'll see what else the outliers have to offer, and see if I can form a Career pack that's, well, frankly better than any pack with you would be."

Logan stepped up, a hard gleam in his eye. "You're gonna regret this, stranger," he threatened.

Talon continued to smile, scrunching one side of his face up. "I somewhat doubt that."

With that, it was his turn to walk away. Lana trailed after him, the District Four duo left in stunned silence as they stood awkwardly in place, exchanging confused glances with one another. Lana looked up at Talon with a peculiar gaze, tilting her head to the side.

"That was odd," she said simply.

"A little bit," Talon admitted. "I didn't particularly intend on that happening, but well, I don't plan on allying with some mindless, psychopathic, vain Careers who don't have half a mind for themselves. And District One seems to be doing their own thing. We'll see about Vivian, they could be a good addition if we can pry them away from Troy."

"Why didn't you let them kick me out of the alliance?" Lana asked.

Talon stopped in place. He looked down at his district partner for a moment, then shrugged and continued walking. "Like I said, I don't want to ally with idiotic, egotistical sadists. Despite the name, this isn't a game. Any ally of mine is going to respect that."

"You don't know me," Lana murmured.

"No, not entirely," he admitted. "But I know enough."

Lana looked up to him expectantly.

"Come on, there'll be plenty of time to talk strategy later," Talon deflected. He pressed the up button on the elevator, and turned back to his young ally. He thought to say more, but decided against it. He forced his head to clear up, and focus on the task at hand. The Games were beginning, and everyone had their part to play.

Talon Olympus wasn't going to let anyone else choose that role for him.

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**A/N: ****And there we have the Parade! Doesn't seem like anyone expected that from the Career pack lol. I'm so excited that we're finally in the training center, I've had exciting plans for this part of the story for a long time. Next chapter is the first night with Troy, and after that I promise we'll start seeing more of the non-Careers.**

**Trivia (1 point): Now that the Careers are fractured, any ideas on how things will end up shaping up alliance wise?**

**Outfits:**

**1) **God and Goddess

**2) **Warriors

**3) **Students

**4) **Fishnets

**5) **Suburban People

**6) **Pilot

**7) **Wood nymph and lumberjack

**8) **Gangsters

**9) **Silos of grain

**10) **Cowboys

**11) **Sunflower and Field Hand

**12) **Miners


	17. The First Night: Till Valhalla

"Till Valhalla"

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**A/N: I really want to bring in the "game show" aspect of the Hunger Games into this story, because I feel like that's something that gets downplayed/underutilized a lot of the time in SYOTs. So here's the first installment of what will be seen after each day of the pre-games, "The Hunger Games Report" where we get filled in on tributes popularity in the Capitol, their predicted odds, confirmed alliances, as well as a segment on "featured tributes" and "featured moments" where 3 tributes get a spotlight, and each of the 12 districts get 1 "moment" (usually something not seen from previous POVs) featured.**

**Also, I just want to make it very clear that popularity rankings are not based on who I like or dislike, and odds are not based on who I'm going to have go far or die early. A non-POV character being #2 on popularity should be plenty evidence of that lol. This is based on Capitol perception (which will play into this story, particularly since this report is broadcast every night, which means the tributes themselves are watching these).**

**PS: I know the Careers (and particularly D1) have been getting a lot of spotlight lately. Kinda just a side effect of how crazy the Career pack has turned out, requiring me to focus on them early, but I promise I haven't forgotten the rest of our awesome tributes. We'll see plenty of them soon!**

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**Troy Magnison, 18, District One**

The elevator ride up was silent as it was fast. Troy, Vivian, Glory, and Hailey rose up the single floor quietly, then stepped out onto their floor. Hailey was the first one to break the stunned silence.

"So, what the fuck happened, then?" She asked.

"What I always was going to do," Troy answered simply. He didn't understand the surprise that seemed to be surrounding him. Never had he intended to join the Careers, and he had never staked claim that he would. The confusion left him equally bemused as the rest of the District One team.

"You can't just leave the Careers like that," Vivian said, exasperated. Hailey raised an eyebrow, and Glory looked taken aback.

"Why ever not," Troy said. "I don't intend to spend my days in the arena hunting down children. I will fight at the bloodbath, and the fight will be fierce and one truly worthy of calling a battle."

"You can't fight the entire Career pack at once, you'll die!" Vivian exclaimed. A panic was in their voice that Troy wasn't used to. They had been nervous, timid at times, sure. But this was something else, more like fear than anything else. He couldn't understand why.

"Indeed," he said, and the look in Vivian's eyes showed that did nothing to quell their confusion, or fear.

"You don't understand," Vivian started.

"Yeah he does," Hailey jumped in. She was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed in her pockets.

Vivian looked from Hailey, then to Glory, who looked equally confused, and then back to Troy. Something shimmered in their eyes.

"I did not volunteer seeking victory," Troy explained in a low voice. "I thought that you understood that."

"What do you want, then?" Vivian asked.

He looked at her with a bemused look, and tilted his head to the side. "Valhalla."

Vivian shook her head, stepping back.

"What's Valhalla?" Glory asked timidly, stepping in from the side of the room.

"Think heaven, but less harps and more beer," Hailey said. The others looked at her oddly, and she shrugged. "Troy told me a bit about it, doesn't sound half bad if you believe in it."

Vivian's expression dropped. Troy felt an ache of pain at watching the way their eyes seemed to shake in disbelief. "So you just volunteered to die, then? To just give up?" There was a bitterness in their voice.

He shook his head. "I will never give into defeat. A true warrior never does. I will fight until I can no longer, and then and only then will I gain entrance into Valhalla."

"Then why not fight with the Careers?" Vivian asked.

"That is no fight," he reiterated, his voice firm and offering no argument.

Vivian nodded her head, betrayal shining from her features as she took a step back. "I see how it is," they muttered. "It's always the same, isn't it? I'll see you in the arena."

They stormed off with that, leaving Troy with an open mouth that no words spilled forth from. He closed his mouth, and turned awkwardly to his mentors. "I apologize, I have done something wrong."

Glory said nothing. She bit her lip and scampered off, following Vivian. Hailey shook her head and walked over to him, knocking him on the shoulder.

"Naw, you're fine. Leaving the Career pack is our whole thing at this point." She smiled up at him, and he returned the smile gratefully.

"So what's the plan then?" She asked. "You gonna just charge into the bloodbath and take on all the assholes at once?"

"I'll fight until I can no longer," he said confidently.

She nodded her head. "Well, I'll be rooting for you. Try to take out as many of those dickheads as you can, we might finally let someone who isn't some asshole volunteer win for once."

"They are not all as bad as you think," he said. "The ones from Two seemed kind, just mislead perhaps. And Vivian is a strong and good person, they just are not aware of their own strength yet."

Hailey looked ready to argue that, as she had the previous day on the train, when they talked and argued late into the night. But she closed her mouth, and nodded absently. "Yeah," she said, and it wasn't much, but it was enough to bring a smile to Troy's face.

"Anyways," Hailey said, coughing into her fist and motioning towards the television. "The Nightly Hunger Games Report is about to be on. Apparently they're watching us with cameras all fucking day now. Might wanna see what kinda shit they're letting the whole world see."

"It might be of interest to watch," Troy said. Truthfully he didn't care too much to see what they reported on. He had no interest in scouting competition, or finding the Capitol's opinion on him and what he did. He was who he was, and would do what he would do. That was inflexible in his eyes. But he could always find the time to sit with a friend. And Hailey Hills, more than anyone he had before met, was someone currently in need of a friend.

The two sat on the sofa, and watched as Coira Thompson rambled through an introduction to the Nightly Report. Her and the co-host, Fabius Flickerman, exchanged pleasantries and shared excitement for this year's Games, and then dove into their first segment.

A 'Popularity Ranking' flashed across the screen, all the tributes ranked from first to worst in terms of how much adoration the Capitol citizens had for them. He felt some slight discomfort seeing himself so high, all the way in third place behind only Aphrodite and Denver. Vivian came near the middle of the list, with a rank of C- putting her in nineteenth place. He expressed the ridiculousness of that, and pointed out that they were a fascinating and strong person, who 'ought to be in the place that he was. Hailey just snorted and half-heartedly agreed.

From there they went to 'Predicted Placements' which saw Troy tied for first place with Talon, the boy from Two he had just met. He considered the man to be a worthy contender, and was happy for him to be receiving respect. Vivian again came too low for Troy's opinion, in fifth place with an over/under placement of eighth. This time Hailey more strongly agreed with the slight, but also expressed hope that one of those lowly underdogs who might better deserve to win take home the crown. Troy agreed to that, but only halfway.

After that, they got into more personal segments, as the hidden cameras on the train began revealing footage of the tributes and their journey to the Capitol. Both of the hosts got the chance to "highlight" a tribute they thought deserved more attention. Fabian Flickerman started by gushing about Juniper, the girl from District Seven. Most of what he had to say seemed to be in regards to her looks, however, and the segment ended quickly. Coira Thompson selected the youngest tribute in the Games, Jamie Curie, a twelve-year-old from Ten. Troy felt pity watching the footage of the young boy, accompanied by a voice-over from Coira that explained his good deeds back in his home district. He was the son of an apothecary, and when a Peacekeeper was shot while his parents were away, he was able to stabilize the man and save the Peacekeeper's life.

The last segment was what they called the "Featured Moments" of the day, though this first episode would actually cover two days. It was a countdown, with each district having one featured moment, and the twelve moments being ranked from most to least interesting. They started with the least interesting.

In District Eleven they showed a time-lapse of the boy, Marquise Clifton, meditating for hours without break or interruption. He barely seemed to move a muscle the entire time. Fabian cracked a joke that if the most interesting thing a district did was sit still, they probably weren't very interesting. Coira pointed out that Marquise displayed a calmness and inner-strength that could make him a contender in the arena.

District Eight was relatively simple, as the two partners officially allied up, Inesa convincing Udon that the two of them would be stronger together.

Next up was District Six, where Earheart received a pair of pilot goggles prior to the parade. They were ecstatic, and both Fabian and Coira admitted it to be adorable how they still seemed determined to wear them, even after they arrived at the training center.

Jamie Curie stole the show again in District Ten, as they showed him writing dozens of letters to different people back home, from his parents to his teachers to local shopkeepers he only barely knew. Both hosts agreed he was the Capitol's darling already.

District Seven saw Vesa telling a story to his district partner, of how he had nearly been put to death for stealing, but struck a deal with the Peacekeepers that he would volunteer for the Games if they let him go, and so he had spent the last year of his life training. Coira was quick to jump in and poke holes in the story, saying that Peacekeepers would never make an illegal deal with district citizens like that, and that him being reaped instead of volunteering proves that he was lying.

A quieter moment took the cake in District Five, as the young unnamed girl accidentally turned on the VR in her room, causing her bedroom walls to transform into a lively, active forest. The girl seemed to believe she actually was in a forest for a moment, and tears came to her eyes as she brought up her hand to a digital Doe that stood quietly. They cut away from the scene before she was able to realize it wasn't real.

The halfway point brought District Twelve enjoying a comedy movie together as a team. Denver laughed boisterously, while Sparrow quietly giggled into the sleeves of her jacket.

Arkus declared himself immortal in District Nine, which prompted Maya to burst into laughter and go into an extended roast of her district partner that even had Hailey snorting in amusement a few times.

Hailey seemed to derive much more pleasure from District Four, though, where Aphrodite threw a temper-tantrum immediately following the Career's meeting. On top of Troy leaving, he found out that District Two had also splintered off in their own direction. Just like that, the Careers were practically gone. That made him feel a bit nervous, but he kept high hopes that he would find worthy competition still.

District Two came in third place, with Talon and Lana bonding over hot chocolate and foam moustaches. Coira said it was adorable and had to make them favorites, while Fabian pessimistically said they seemed to lack the killer instinct that a victor required. Troy felt pity for the young girl who had volunteered from Two. Doubtless some external forces were pushing her into the arena, and she was far too young to be forced into such a battle.

District Three was next, Julie and Ty playing some sort of karaoke video game. It started off friendly, but quickly devolved into a fierce competition that saw the two battling and putting all their effort into a flashy performance. Troy found himself amused by the duo, and the hosts both agreed. The two agreed that they were the best "power duo" of the Games, and would be sure to win over sponsors.

The final highlight was one familiar to Troy. It was the previous night, the first night on the trains, when he and Vivian had stumbled into one another. Hailey looked surprised, and raised an eyebrow at Troy. The scene unfolded on the television, of his talk with Vivian, and what they had told each other. He watched himself dive into the story of Valhalla, and saw Vivian managing to crack a smile for the first time since he had met them. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, to now be facing against them. They were no enemy to fight against in the arena. No, they were a friend.

When the scene finished, and the report ended, Troy jumped to his feet, eager to find Vivian. He would apologize to them for not being more upfront about what he was doing, and ask for forgiveness. Perhaps they would have to fight in the arena, but that didn't mean they had to fight as enemies.

Vivian managed to find him first. They walked into the room just as Troy was looking to exit. They smiled sheepishly at him, and scratched the back of their neck.

"I've been thinking," they said, quietly. "And, well, I guess I never really saw myself as much of a Career, and, well, hearing that whole Valhalla spiel again. . ." they shrugged, averting their eyes to their shoes. "It does sound pretty nice, I gotta admit. I can see why you'd want to chase that." They paused, and looked up at him, hesitation hidden beneath their eyes, but still they steeled themselves up and pressed onwards. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, do you think you'd have room for one more person in your alliance?"

They winced as the words came out, but Troy left no time for doubt, smiling widely as a sense of relief flooded his senses. "Vivian Ostera, it would be an honor to fight by your side."

* * *

**A/N: We've arrived in the Capitol! Next chapter will take us to the beginning of training, and we'll start to see the alliances starting to form, so I'm super excited! Hope y'all enjoyed the Nightly Recap, I like the way it allows for all 12 districts to get some focus, without having to give out 12 POVs per day, so hopefully that worked well. If you want the full Recap (including the full popularity rankings and predicted placements) then go check it out on the blog! Each day will see those rankings updated, so I'll continue to publish the full report with every Night chapter.**

**Trivia (1 point): Aside from D1 and D2 (since we saw those already last chapter), which was your favorite "Highlight" moment that we got to see?**

**Trivia (1 point): Any alliance predictions/hopes?**

**Confirmed Alliances:**

**Till Valhalla: **Troy, Vivian

**New Careers: **Talon, Lana

**We want it all: **Ty, Julie

**Careers: **Logan, Aphrodite

**Dark Horses: **Udon, Inesa


	18. Training: Power Plays

"Power Plays"

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**A/N: POV lengths are a bit wonky, but that's mostly to do with the longer POVs having more summary of what other people are doing during training in them. Anyways, here we finally get to see some of those non-Careers in action, with Ty, Inesa, Nikola, and Ciera! Enjoy!**

* * *

_~I used to be a skeptic non-believer_

_But now it's changed, you're worth your weight in gold~_

* * *

**Ty Bale, 16, District Three**

Ty had been the first one awake on the District Three floor. There wasn't much competition, Dalton was a late riser and Julie crawled out of bed just minutes before descending down to the training center, and their escort and stylists were nowhere to be seen. Still, it was Ty first. He was getting accustomed to having some quiet time to himself in the morning, and was using it to its fullest. The Capitol bathrooms and closets were overwhelming, and Ty needed every last second he gave himself to prepare for the day.

The training slacks were chosen for them already, which was unfortunate, but Ty picked out an outfit that he would change into after the day of training came to an end. He experimented with the different shower settings, soaps, and facial creams, meticulously reading each label until he was sure on the best combination. He momentarily wondered aloud if he would be allowed to bring some moisturizer as his token into the arena.

His routine went on, stretching the crack of early morning until the sunlight of daytime. Once thoroughly satisfied, every strand of hair in the right place, each molecule of skin clean and blemish-free, properly moisturized and giving off a vibrant hue, he allowed himself to exit his room. Dalton was the only one awake, and he was sipping on some coffee, entirely disinterested in Ty.

He had gotten used to that over the train as well, Dalton's interest in Ty went down to zero the moment Julie left the room. Ty tried not to let it irk him, but that wasn't one of his strong suites. The alliance was going well, and that was all that he could ask for. Julie and him got along, and their personalities meshed and clashed at just the perfect ratio.

Ty scoured the breakfast table, eventually settling for some tea and dry pancakes that were sure to leave no mess or smell behind. By the time he was finished, it was just a few minutes until training would start, and yet there was still no sign of Julie.

Dalton seemed to have no concern with this, either. He continued to sip on his coffee and read through the newspaper with hawk-like eyes that darted across the page. The man unnerved him, Ty was willing to admit that. And that was the reason he didn't mind not getting much attention from him. Yes, that was it. Ty didn't mind being out of the spotlight. Certainly not from him. Most definitely not.

Julie stumbled out of her room, hair a wild mess around her, the training jumpsuit lazily tossed on, and her hand still in a splint. Last day until it could be removed, according to her. She rubbed her eyes and threw out a prolonged yawn.

"So, any last minute training advice?" Julie in between yawns.

Dalton glanced up from the paper. "Follow through with the plan and you'll be fine. Stick together, visit my exact list of stations in my exact order. Do exactly as I told you. Avoid attention from the Careers, gain attention from the Gamemakers. It's a delicate balance."

"Right, balancing, my strong suit." Julie snorted.

Dalton didn't respond, only looking back down at his paper and taking another long sip of his coffee.

Julie trudged her way over to Ty, and threw an arm on his shoulder, leading him to the elevator.

"You can't go down to the training center dressed like that?" Ty meant to make it a statement, a command perhaps, but it trailed off to an uncertain question instead.

"Wearing the same outfit as you," Julie said. She continued to push him towards the elevator.

"You can take some time to wash your hair, you'll only be a bit late." Ty tried. "I'll catch you up on anything you miss."

She raised an eyebrow at him that instructed him this would be a futile fight. He pried himself out of the sticky grasp of Julie's training shirt (which Ty was beginning to think she slept in judging by the smell) and momentarily contemplated breaking off the alliance.

But no, while her appearance and style may leave a lot to be desired, this was only the other tributes. Their impressions didn't matter to him. He and Julie had already won over the crowds. They were the most popular non-Careers and it wasn't particularly close, and he intended to keep on riding that wave with Julie for as long as she was useful. Besides, she was decent company. She could keep up with him, but she was still no T-Bale.

They arrived at the training center in near-unison with the rest of the districts. Despite the lack of mentors, it seemed like everyone had gotten down without much incident. The only exceptions were District Six and the female from Ten, who both had yet to arrive. The boys from Ten and Eleven, on the other hand, seemed to already be set up like they had been there for quite some time. The small boy from Ten was chatting shyly with a group of trainers who fawned over him, while the man from Eleven sat in a secluded corner, eyes closed as he meditated in the same way he did on the Nightly Report.

Ty made sure to find the tributes Dalton had warned him and Julie to look out for. There was Talon, the boy from Two. He was leaning up against the wall near the elevator, a smirk on his face as his eyes swept across the room. His young district partner stood awkwardly next to him, eyes darting across the room mechanically. The pair from Four were up front, right next to the head trainer. The two were loudly arguing about who to accept into the splintered Career alliance, while the boy from Nine made his case, proclaiming his immortality.

And then finally there was the boy from Five, Nikola. Ty wasn't sure why Dalton pointed him out as a threat to avoid, but he would listen to the advice regardless. The boy seemed amiable, an easy smirk on his face as he chatted casually with the boy from Twelve, whose laugh echoed throughout the room. Everyone else just stood awkwardly and waited, aside from District One. They both stood in the middle of the room and clearly lacked the nervousness of the outliers. But neither of them quite gave off the same intimidating vibe of the District Two or Four pairs, either. Dalton had said they were nothing to worry about for now, and so Ty and Julie found their spot nearby the pair.

The Head Trainer stepped forward, a woman in her mid-thirties without the extravagant looks of most Capitolites. She had a simple grey jumpsuit on, pale skin, and had naturally dark hair and eyes. She spoke succinctly, clearly eager to get the speech done with, and training underway.

"Welcome to the 102nd Hunger Games. I am Head Trainer Harper. I run these training facilities, and any problems or questions you have about them may be directed at me. Furthermore, I can carry on any questions to the Gamemakers you have for them, although I cannot guarantee a response or even acknowledgement." She paused, looking over the room. "I see most of you are on time today. That is good. From this time forward, training facilities will be open twenty-four hours a day at a limited capacity. This includes stations that are self-sufficient, such as wall-climbing, and most survival skills. Weapon training stations and other trainer-reliant stations will be open from eight in the morning until eight at night, with a brief recess for lunch between twelve and twelve-thirty. After lunch on the third day of training, these training facilities will close, and Private Sessions will begin."

She took a moment to let that information sit in. Nobody seemed at all surprised by the information, how the Games were run had become common information among the districts. Still, Ty's interest was piqued by the limitless hours. A late night or early morning training session was a surefire way to have a highlight moment on the Nightly Report that would be talked about, and increase his odds.

"Finally, you may notice that the stations available this year are somewhat limited. I cannot speak to that specifically, but can tell you that the stations are selected by the Gamemakers carefully, developing only the skills that the Gamemakers think will be useful in the arena. If a weapon does not have a station for it, you will not find it in the arena. I will implore you all to spend time at the survival stations rather than waste it all at the more flashy weapons and agility courses. However, how you spend your time is your own decision. Thank you for your time, good luck in training, and as always, may the odds be ever in your favor."

Julie turned to him, while the crowd slowly dispersed, Careers rushing to weapon stations while outliers stumbled aimlessly to survival stations. "So then, T-Bale, you got the list up in that clever little head of yours?"

Ty smiled, and shrugged. "Of course. First stop, the most boring, useless station they have."

Julie snorted. "Right, flexibility." She peered across the room. "Looks like we'll be having company."

Ty waved it off, and started walking there. "As long as it isn't one of the people on Dalton's list, we're fine. Really, I don't think we have to worry about some dude who meditates all day."

"Dunno, it's the quiet ones you gotta keep an eye on," she said cheekily. "Never know who's gonna sneak up on ya and hit you with a surprise."

"You sound like you want him to win more than us." Ty rolled his eyes.

Julie shrugged, but offered little in the way of her normal banter. Ty caught her eyes fluttering over to the rock wall, where the boy from Eight was struggling to make any progress. Julie bit her lip, then looked back to the flexibility station.

"Are you—" Ty started.

"You watch any TV in your room last night?" She cut him off abruptly. "There was this sick movie that was showing on like half of the channels, super gruesome stuff. All about some mindless, crazy people running around biting people's heads off."

"Didn't catch it," Ty murmured, and he scanned over Julie, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

She had a slight skip and a slide in her step, her eyes exploring the room as she constantly forced Ty to quicken his pace to keep up. Still, though, that blip hadn't gone unnoticed. Ty liked Julie, he did. She was fun, and could see him for who he was, unlike most other people. She understood that he was a star waiting to be born. But for that to happen, he would need to win first, and both of them knew that all too well. Ty was going to keep a close eye on his ally. There was something else there. Something about who she was, the way she acted, her whole persona, it was just the slightest bit off.

And T-Bale never missed a beat.

**Inesa Hugo, 18, District Eight**

Inesa hadn't stopped thinking since she got reaped. From her goodbyes through the train ride and her first night in the Capitol, Inesa had been trying to solve the problem in front of her. She wouldn't be one of the weak outliers who gave up all hope the moment their name was called. Inesa Hugo was going to win. She just needed to figure out how.

Udon had proved to be easy to twist and control with just a few well-placed words. He was clever, sure, but not as smart as he thought he was. He was too bitter and sarcastic to ever find an ally on his own, and his vocal lack of trust for anyone only made that more evident. Still, she could put up with his immaturity, and that was enough for him to agree on allying with her. In his eyes she was just a kind, sweet girl who posed no threat to him. Hopefully her next targets would prove as easy to convince.

A barrage of curse words and insults erupted from Udon as he was taken down by the hand-to-hand combat trainer yet again, pinned to the mat with ease. He had wanted to focus on the survival stations, which was a smart plan, but Inesa had other ideas. The Career alliance had fractured, and now the dim District Four pair was recruiting new members. In just one hour of training Arkus, the 'immortal' boy from Six, had joined their alliance. Three strong, serious contenders, all sharing a single brain cell between the three of them, and having no control over their emotions. Inesa had originally thought to keep a small, trustworthy alliance, but this was an opportunity too good to pass up on.

Arkus was off doing his own thing, swinging around a sword and getting destroyed by the trainer, while the duo from Four stuck together, the two making their way over to the station her and Udon were occupying.

Udon grunted, the air escaping him as the trainer slammed him to the ground again. Udon stepped in front of the boy, Logan, stopping him from walking by the station.

"Why hello there," she said, twirling her hair with her finger as she flashed him a sheepish smile.

"The fuck do you want," Aphrodite interjected, looking her up and down with a disinterested disgust.

"Well, you see, my ally Udon," she motioned over to her district partner, and was surprised to see him landing a solid punch on the trainer right as she did so. "We've been thinking that it might be nice to have some allies in the arena. And you two seem so strong and smart, we thought you'd just be perfect!"

Inesa expected some sort of pushback, at least a little hesitancy, but instead was surprised to see Logan shrug indifferently. "Yeah, sure. We could do worse."

Aphrodite picked at her nails, and let out a sigh. "There isn't exactly much to choose from, is there?"

Inesa tried to bury her confusion and surprise, instead putting up an excited front. "That's amazing! We're gonna all be a great team, I can already tell!"

"Yeah, whatever," Aphrodite said. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. We'll meet up at lunch and chat about what it means to be a Career. You follow what we say, and you don't do anything stupid to embarrass me, got it?"

"Of course!" Inesa exclaimed, flashing a bright smile. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, pushing past Inesa. Logan followed silently behind her. The two were headed to the axes station, where the boy from Seven who claimed to have been trained was assaulting a dummy. Inesa hoped they added him to round out the alliance, that would make five brawny idiots to surround herself with.

She was almost a bit disappointed. Sure, it was good to be buried deeply into the strongest alliance in the Games, but she had expected to have to work for it. Put in a bit of charm, flex her intelligence a bit. Instead, it just fell into her lap so easily that anyone could have made it happen.

Udon stepped out of the ring, his face red with bruises and marks and a swollen eye that the Capitol would fix up before his interview. "The fuck did they want?" He asked, charmingly as ever.

"They want us to join their alliance!" Inesa exclaimed, the hint of a squeal in her voice.

"Why the fuck would I want to join up with those shitheads?" Udon asked, and Inesa was almost glad to finally have some sort of challenge or obstacle, if not just to keep her from getting complacent.

"Because they're good fighters, we could use them," she urged him.

"Or they could use us," he grunted.

She hated how easy this was. "You really think that they're smart enough to do that? You'll see what they're doing from a mile away, right?"

She watched the cogs in his brain turning, his egotistical mindset too prideful to refute her statement, and his head too far up his own ass to realize that she was just stroking his ego. It was all painfully easy, wasn't it?

"All right, sure. I'll think about it," he said.

"Great!" She exclaimed. "They want us to sit with them at lunch to talk as an alliance."

"And what other assholes will be there with us?" He sighed. He wiped away at his face with a towel, but it did little to wipe away the sweat and blood that covered him. More so smeared it, really.

"The boy from Six is with them, I think," she said, pretending to have to think about it. "I don't know who else."

"Some more annoying bitches, probably," he grumbled. She decided to assume that was directed towards the other members of the alliance, and not her. "Whatever, I don't give a fuck who they are as long as they know how to fight. Let them hold the Cornucopia at the bloodbath, then we can just kill them all in their sleep anyways."

"Huh?" Inesa mustered up, and for once the confusion was genuine. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was relieved to find nobody nearby them. She lowered her voice, leaning in towards him. "What are you talking about?"

Udon grabbed his water bottle, downing a long gulp and then shrugging. "Those District Two assholes are making a Career alliance too. And then there's the dicks from One. There'll be like fourteen fucking dumbasses fighting at the bloodbath to control the cornucopia. Let them all kill each other off, and then we finish off the survivors. Easiest final eight appearance ever."

"You'd really slit your allies throats while they're sleeping?" She asked timidly.

He snorted. "I'm here to fucking win, I don't give a fuck."

Inesa pretended to look conflicted and gave an uneasy smile. Mentally, she filed away a note. Udon Chang couldn't be trusted, but he could be used. She had to suppress a grin that attempted to fight its way onto her lips. Easiest final eight appearance ever, indeed.

**Nikola Surge, 17, District Five**

Nikola had found himself in a difficult situation. He still had the list of targets cycling in his head; Lana, Denver, Jamie, and his district partner who had been given the name River for the time being. Yet four hours into training, and he still didn't have anything to show for it. Lana had been glued to her district partner, and the boy from Two was far too sharp for Nikola to want to have anything to do with him. He had tried wiggling his way into a conversation that Jamie, Denver, and a few other outliers were having at the edible nuts and berries station, but neither of them ever separated for long enough for Nikola to get a private conversation in. The last thing he needed to do was start some massive eight person alliance of useless outliers. Certainly not when there were already two Career packs forming.

District Eight had merged with District Four, and the insane boy from Nine joined them, and they had spent the rest of the morning searching for a sixth. Nikola had politely declined their request. They were a bunch of idiots, sure. But they were also a bunch of idiots. Nikola got the feeling that alliance would tear itself apart by the end of the first day, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that breakup.

With River he tried to play the part of a kind and supportive district partner, but it seemed to leave no impact on the girl. She said nothing to him, even though he knew she was fully capable of speaking, and seemed perfectly content sticking to herself. She spent her time quietly shooting arrows with a worrying precision, and dodging away from the station any time someone wandered over to talk with her.

So unless he wanted to join the six bloodbaths that were all watching as Denver loudly laughed and joked, that left him with exactly one option. He would have to play this game the hard way, his intelligence pitted against someone else's.

Nikola slid his tray onto the table, flashing a smile as he slid in across from the pair from Two. Lana tightened her grip on the knife she held in her fist, her eyes scanning over him as he awkwardly kept his smile loosely in place.

Talon looked unfazed, a smirk in place as he leaned back into his seat. "Nikola Surge, District Five. To what do we owe the pleasure?" He asked pleasantly.

"Well, the training center can be an awfully lonely place," Nikola suggested.

Talon tilted his head, his eyes boring into Nikola's for a long moment before he plainly stated, "I suppose it can be."

"Couldn't help but notice what happened with the Career pack while I was watching the Nightly Report," Nikola tossed out casually.

"I'm sure it made for great television," Talon said.

Nikola tried to not let his frustration at the non-answers show. The boy from Two was playing games with him, trying to force him to outright say what it is he wanted. That was no worry though, he could adjust.

"So now your career pack is down to just two members, and one of those members is twelve years old," Nikola pointed out.

Talon looked over to his district partner, then looked down at himself, and back to Nikola. "I suppose it is, isn't it?"

"It is," Nikola smiled. "And I'm not an expert on Games history or anything, but as far as I can remember there's usually at least four members, six most often."

"Not far off the mark. Of course, last year the pack only had _three _members, didn't it?" Talon asked, and he popped a grape and his mouth and smiled cheekily in a way that Nikola couldn't decipher any meaning from.

"Three sounds like a pretty strong number to me." Nikola shrugged, and he leaned back and carefully cut away a piece of steak and placed it in his mouth.

"Strongest number in nature." He popped another grape. "And the Hunger Games are kinda like nature, aren't they? Every person for themselves, kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted, et cetera et cetera."

"Sounds about right." Nikola shrugged. He looked over at Lana and saw that she had still not loosened her grip on her knife, nor had she broken her gaze away from him. He wondered for a moment if these two were just as unlikely an alliance as the rest of his prospects.

"Alright, so all this dodgy chit chat out of the way, you want to be our ally, huh?" Talon gave him a knowing look. "Or, just my ally? Just Lana's, with me as the bridge to get you in with her?" He raised an eyebrow and nodded to himself as he said the last one, as if he had solved the equation to some problem that had been bothering him.

"I've been looking for a few allies," Nikola said truthfully. "A few more than three, I hope you don't mind."

He snorted at that. "And your first choice is to come to the big, bad, scary careers from the fiercest career district of them all." He said it like a statement but Nikola got the feeling it was more of a question.

"You two don't seem too scary to me," Nikola said lightly, flashing a smile.

Talon returned the smile, and leaned in towards Nikola for the first time. "No, but it's the ones who don't seem bad on the outside that you gotta look out for, isn't it?"

Nikola bit the inside of his lip, forcing his smile to stay in place even as he felt the temptation to break. "I guess," he said noncommittally.

"So why not the gaggle of outliers over there?" Talon leaned back into his chair and nodded towards Denver's group. "They look like a real blast."

"I think some of them would make good allies, just not all of them," Nikola said, deciding to continue answering truthfully as far as he could with this man. Something about him was unnerving, and clever as Nikola knew himself to be he couldn't help the feeling of inadequacy he felt sitting across from him.

"And which ones would that be, if you were to create an alliance of, say, six people?" Talon posed curiously.

"Aside from us three wonderfully talented individuals?" Nikola joked, biding time as he ran through his possible answers in his head, and how he would justify them. "My district partner would have to be one of them, I couldn't leave her all alone in the arena, afterall."

"Pretty decent shot with a bow, too," Talon interjected.

"It doesn't hurt." Nikola shrugged. "From there, I suppose the boys from Twelve and Ten seem trustable."

"Denver Lyon and Jamie Curie." Talon shrugged. "Trusting, surely. Trustable, maybe. Popular, obviously. Useful though? That's a question yet to be answered."

"Well, the amount of choices seems to be dropping by the day," Nikola said, peering around the cafeteria and confirming what he already knew, there weren't a lot of great options left. The District One pair were stuck to one another, the other career pack was already five members strong, the duo from Three seemed inseparable and uninterested in anyone else, and the rest were all loners or a part of Denver's crew of bloodbaths-in-waiting. "Who would you be interested in, if you were looking?"

"I think there's a few choices still of interest," he said. "We're actually having lunch with one miss Maya Hoover today, and she should be joining us shortly."

"Maya, that's the girl from. . . Nine, right?" Nikola asked, pretending he didn't already know the answer to his question.

"Yup, that's the one. Not exactly at the top of those Capitol popularity rankings, but she's clever, and there's not a single other trait more valuable in a person, in my humble opinion."

"And am I not quite clever enough for your group?" Nikola said in what he hoped was a joking tone.

Talon just smiled, and shook his head. "No. So the thing is, Nikola Surge, I think you're incredibly clever, much more so than you're pretending to be right now. So my question, Nikola Surge, is why do you try so hard to hide that cleverness from me? I'm not sure there's any answer to that question that I like. Maybe, I get the feeling, the answer might be as simple as," he paused for a moment, a knowing smile twitching at his lips as he shrugged, "well, nature. Kill or be killed, right?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's a bit of a pessimistic way of looking at it," he said, attempting to salvage the situation in some way.

"It is, isn't it? Such a terrible way of looking at the world." Talon trained his eyes on him, and when Nikola looked back it seemed like there wasn't a hint of emotion facing him. It brought a chill running down his spine. Then, a switch flipped and Talon was smiling again, leaning into his chair and stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. "Well, it has been a fascinating chat, Nikola Surge of District Five, but it looks like my friend is ready to join my partner and I. Until next time."

Nikola slid out of his seat, his head spinning as he tried to untangle the knot that had been made in his brain. Lana, River, Denver, Jamie; all four of his marks were slipping out of reach, and his chance of surviving with it. He would have to adjust. He just had to think things through. He still had time, and that was all he needed. As long as he had time, he could figure things out. Nikola was good enough.

He was unable to shove away the doubt that ate away at him as he tossed his tray into the garbage, and returned to the training center, the control he had worked so hard to take for himself slipping out of his grasp.

**Ciera Ocussia, 18, District Eleven**

Ciera needed to do something. She was the golden child, always perfect in every way. She was pretty, and smart, and just the right amount of charming, and she knew it. So why did nobody seem to be noticing her? The first Nightly Report, Ciera had expected to hear herself be all anyone could talk about. Instead they fawned over Juniper's beauty, over Denver's popularity, over Jamie's cuteness, the Career's strength, all the way through just about everyone but Ciera. She had been forgotten, left in the middle of the pack with all the other ordinary tributes. But she wasn't ordinary. She never had been, and her whole life had centered around knowing that.

Yet a day at training had just reinforced that. All day she had worked hard at the survival stations, glowing at the compliments the trainers all gave her. She aced every test, picked up on every concept, and they all told her how far she was going to go. Yet while everyone else broke off into their groups and alliances, Ciera was still all alone, sitting at the snare station, fiddling with a few pieces of metal wire.

Vesa joined with the Careers, making their alliance six strong, while Maya joined the District Two duo to make them a trio. The boy, Talon, had been approaching just about every single person in the entire room, yet he hadn't talked with Ciera yet. She tried to not let that bother her, but she couldn't bury the frustration it made her feel.

Some of the thin wiring snapped in her fingers. She tried to swallow her frustration, the same way she had been ever since the previous night had revealed those results, but it was becoming impossible. Her district partner was no help, that was for sure. Marquise sat and meditated the entire train ride, and what conversation she had with the man was meaningless. He spoke slowly and precisely, and tried dishing out wisdom as if he were some old sage instead of a kid, just as old as Ciera, and certainly not smarter. Now he was at the hand-to-hand combat station, where he spent long intervals of time chatting with the trainer about technique and form, and little time actually sparring.

Ciera couldn't take it anymore. The stress, the way her skin crawled and her mind reeled for the relief of a drink or some pills to numb away her insecurities, all of it left her ready to burst at the seam. She needed to do something, anything to make her stand out from the crowd, give her the spotlight that she belonged.

"Are you a-a-alright?" The sweet, stuttering voice was unmistakable, and Ciera turned to find the ever-popular boy from Twelve giving her a concerned look as he sat beside her.

Ciera released the wire from her hands, brushing them against her pants as she rose to her feet. "I'm most perfectly adequate, thank you very much."

"You look p-pretty g-g-good w-with snares. And everything else, really," he said sheepishly.

"Thank you," she said plainly. She paused for a moment, contemplating whether to leave or stay. Denver had split off from his large, loud group of friends for the first time all day. Most of them had left to head to their rooms for the night, it seemed like. She thought back to her day, and wondered if anything she did was notable enough to give her any attention on the soon-approaching Nightly Report. Ciera already knew the answer to that was no.

"Mind helping me out?" He asked, holding a handful of wires into the air and grinning. "University p-prepared me for a lot, b-but n-n-not th-this."

Ciera sat back down, and graciously took half of the wires out of Denver's hands, leaving him with the rest of the tangled mess. "Schooling didn't prepare me, either. Surviving in a deathmatch isn't quite the most commonly taught subject."

"G-guess n-not." Denver laughed. He continued to ramble about the difficulties of snares for the next few minutes while Ciera calmly guided him through. For all of his bumbling and joking, Ciera was surprised to see that he picked up on things quick. She supposed it shouldn't be too surprising, he got accepted for university in the Capitol after all.

In no time at all Ciera had taught him the basics of a handful of snares, and Denver looked at his creations proudly. "Look at us, wh-what a team! You're a g-great teacher, Ciera."

"Thank you." Ciera smiled, the compliment warming her up and filling her with the attention and praise that she had been starved for ever since the reaping. "You aren't half-bad as a student."

"I have my moments." He shrugged, a wild grin spreading across his face. "I w-wish I c-coulda met you earlier. You w-w-woulda fit right in at P-Pioneer."

Ciera's expression dropped, and she stood down at the ends of wire that she still held in her hands. "Maybe."

"W-w-well, it might not be too late," he said cheerily. "Someone as smart as y-you? I w-w-wouldn't b-be surprised if y-you w-w-won."

"Thank you," Ciera said quietly. "Your odds aren't looking too bad either, especially since you have that enormous alliance under your wing."

Denver shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't th-think any of th-them w-w-will actually ally w-with me."

"What do you mean?" Ciera asked, genuinely confused. "You're on top of the popularity rankings, and all of them seem to love you."

"Yeah, b-but th-they all w-anna w-w-w, n-not lose. And me?" He shrugged, and smiled wearily. "Everyone kn-knows I'm n-not w-winning."

"Nobody thinks I'm going to make it far either," Ciera said. "I suppose we'll both just have to prove 'them' wrong, won't we?" She felt a surge of confidence that she hadn't felt in a long time as she asked him, a smile slipping into place as her insecurities were eaten away and momentarily buried. At least for now, she could be confident. She could be certain. She was Ciera Ocussia, the golden child of District Eleven. She was smarter than anyone else in the Games, and able to do anything she set her mind to. And she was going to win.

Denver smiled at her and nodded his head. "Yeah, I g-guess w-w-we w-will."

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**A/N: Hope y'all liked our first training chapter! Still a lot more drama and shenanigans set to go down in the coming chapters, so stay tuned for that! Next chapter will be a shorter chapter as we get the second Nightly Report with Udon! See you all next week!**

**Trivia (1 point): Who's alliance is your favorite/the one you're most looking out for so far?**


	19. Nightly Recap 2: Survival

"Survival"

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**A/N: Nightly Recap #2 coming at you all with Udon Chang of District Eight. Enjoy!**

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_This is survival of the fittest_

_This is do or die_

_This is the winner takes it all_

_So take it all~_

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**Udon Chang, 16, District Eight**

The first day of training had proved more useful than Udon had expected. He spent most of the day at the survival stations, absorbing as much information as he could. If he could have two more days of learning, he felt confident that he could survive whatever the arena threw at him. Inesa had been insistent he spend some time at the hand-to-hand combat station, and even that proved to be surprisingly useful. It had impressed the Careers enough to invite them into their alliance, at the very least. Of course, Inesa accepting their offer on behalf of him was something he didn't appreciate.

He could already tell she was trying to do something. He had been crass with her, blunt and sarcastic, the same way he was to everyone else. And yet still Inesa had been adamant to ally with him, for no apparent reason. Either she was an idiot, or trying to play him. Regardless of which it was, he wasn't going to stick around to find out. The boy from Two was obsessed with finding members for his own alliance, and Udon would be sure to approach him. He seemed to appreciate smarts, and so Udon wouldn't take long to win him over. From there, he'd be in with both alliances, and could stick with whichever one survived the bloodbath. Then he could finish off the survivors and run the arena the way he always intended to: alone.

He was sure that if he shared his idea with his mentor, she would try to dissuade him. They'd be calling him a villain back home, but he didn't care. Nothing that anyone else thought mattered. He knew what it took to survive, what it took to win. And he would come out of the arena, no matter how much blood he had to spill, and when he got back home he would finally have his revenge. His father would pay. Udon had everyone exactly where he wanted to, it was almost sad how easy it all was.

Their escort Gabriel was with Udon on the couch, watching the pre-show for the Nightly Report with him, while Mira and Inesa were who knew where. Udon figured Mira was probably locked in her room, per usual, while Inesa could be anywhere. She had watched the Nightly Report with Udon yesterday, but apparently his commentary had thrown her off and she decided to watch this one alone. Fine with Udon.

"So, any hot tea from the training center?" Gabriel asked, picking at his nails and examining the rose red color in the dim light.

"Yeah, the Career ripped out two of the twelve-year-olds throats out and they had to kick us all out because the training center was a literal bath of fucking blood," Udon quipped.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Now that's steamy."

Udon couldn't decide whether his escort knew he was being sarcastic or not. He decided to hold his tongue. The report was starting up anyways, now that those annoying talking heads had finished blabbering on incessantly about their favorite tributes, ignoring the real contenders like Udon of course in favor of the 'cute' tributes like that weakling boy from Ten.

The report started with the updated popularity ratings, and Udon scowled and muttered a string of expletives when his ranking only improved to a C+. Eighteenth place, and two spots behind Inesa? They were a bunch of idiots, is what they were, but whatever. Once they saw his training score and heard him in the interview, and most of all, saw his plan go into action in the arena, they'd all start flocking to him in no time.

Still though, they were a bunch of fucking idiots, and he would be sure to let them know that as soon as he got the opportunity.

"Looks like you and Inesa are not the hot stuff, huh?" Gabriel said lazily.

"That's cause Capitolites are all just like you, a bunch of dimwitted idiots with no fucking ability to think outside of who looks hot or cute," Udon spat.

Gabriel didn't seem to hear the insult, continuing to hold his nails up and examine them. "I could spread some hot goss about you and Inesa, get the interest rolling. Some real juicy scandal would boost your ratings right on up there. And that would spell p-r-o, 'promotion' for me."

"I don't need any of your pigshit help to get popular," Udon grumbled.

"Whatever you say, mr. eighteenth," Gabriel said.

Udon didn't justify that with a response, even if he felt tempted to rip those long nails right out of his escort's fingers.

The predicted placements left him with enough good news to hold him over, though, with the betters giving him an over/under of ten and a half. That put him in tenth place, which was still stupid, but better at least. And it would only go up once they saw his training score. That was what really mattered anyways, not that glorified beauty pageant, gossip-inspired, dumbass list of 'popularity.' It was the betting corner that mattered, the people with half a brain who gambled big sums of money on their favorite bets. And he would be sure to be first on their list now that he had cracked the 'contenders' list.

The featured tributes were next, and of course Udon wasn't one of the two selections. That was fine with him, though. He still had four more days to be chosen, and the later they picked him the better. That way people would be sure not to forget him when they placed their big bets right prior to the Games starting. Maybe they would highlight him by showing off his private session performance, or him dazzling the interviews, or winning over the everyman during the party. Regardless, he was gonna shine, and for now he could wait it over.

Fabius moved from one attractive girl to another, selecting Ciera this time and gushing over her looks, with a tiny bit thrown in there about her intelligence and her alliance with Denver. Mostly, though, he circled back to appearance, which was about as surprising to Udon as his father saying something manipulative and fucked up on any given day. Meaning: zero surprise whatsoever.

Coira at least put in the effort to dig deeper, but she was no smarter than Fabius, being all about sentimentality and having no actual rational thought. She chose the girl from Five that had earned the nickname "River" and hyped her up as if she were an actual contender instead of bloodbath fodder. Udon mostly tuned it out, but overheard Coira gushing about the girl's survival abilities and independence, and decided it wouldn't be the worst idea to at least keep an eye out for the girl during tomorrow's training.

Finally, they moved onto the Featured Moments. Last time they had featured a dull, meaningless moment of Inesa pestering Udon into allying with her and played it off as sentimentality. Udon muttered to himself that "this time they'd better show me kicking ass."

Gabriel murmured back something that Udon couldn't make out but vaguely resembled doubt, and so Udon scowled at his escort, before switching his attention back to the television so as to not miss any important information.

The lowest ranked moment was unsurprisingly the weakling district Six duo, as they both woke up two hours late and scrambled down to training still in their pajamas, forcibly sent back up to their floor to change into training gear. Earhart was allowed to wear their pilot goggles from the chariot, though, and they seemed content with that. Coira and Fabius both agreed that the Six duo were cute, but two to avoid for betters, unless you were gambling on who dies in the bloodbath.

The second lowest moment flashed as District Eight, and Udon just about popped a blood vessel. The moment was him kicking ass, going toe to toe with the trainer at the hand-to-hand combat station, something Udon was glad they showcased since his intelligence would shine naturally, but then switched to Inesa sneaking her way into the alliance with District Four with ease, and adding Udon in without consultation. Any reservations of ensuring Inesa died by the end of day one, while already absent, were doubly removed from his thoughts. His stupid district partner was holding him back and keeping him at the tail end of the highlights, where nobody was even paying attention. He would have to be sure to make a splash tomorrow.

"Don't even say a fucking thing," Udon spat out, too aware of the way Gabriel's mouth opened to undoubtedly suggest spreading gossip about him again.

The next few moments flew by, a string of dull moments that Udon's easily should have been placed ahead of. There was the boy from Seven looking mediocre with the axes and being recruited by the Careers, and then Aphrodite taking charge and solidifying the six person alliance at lunch, an alliance Coira was quick to call the weakest, flimsiest Career alliance she had ever seen. Udon hardly disagreed.

Next up was District Nine and the other Career alliance, as Maya went back and forth in a battle of wits with Talon of District Two and impressed him enough to earn her spot in their alliance. Udon found himself even more attracted to the other alliance, enticed at the idea of not being surrounded by total idiots. But then again, if he intended on slitting their throats night one, maybe idiots were for the best. Coira and Fabius both agreed they had cautious optimism for the other Career pack's prospects, depending who else they added.

In seventh place, the small boy from Ten yet again got a high placement just for doing some stupid, meaningless thing that the Capitolites gushed over as being cute, as if this were a pageant and not a deathmatch. Sixth place was equally boring as they highlighted the stuttering boy from Twelve as he chatted and tentatively allied with the girl from Eleven.

Next up was River, as she showed precision with the bow that even Udon had to admit was surprisingly impressive. He doubled his note to keep an eye on her, though mostly to check out who tried to start an alliance with her, and less out of a personal interest. The last thing he wanted to do in the arena was babysit a weird girl who never seemed to talk.

The Three duo won fourth place, as Ty and Julie competed in a climbing contest that Ty showed decently impressive skills at, while Julie skipped up the wall as if she were walking on flat ground. Her splint had only been removed an hour before at lunch, yet it looked like she had nothing holding her back at all. Udon made a mental note to himself that if he ever ran into her, to not let her get anywhere that she could climb and take advantage of her vertical abilities.

The first of the top three moments was Marquise, who skyrocketed in the rankings as he had a conversation with one of the hand-to-hand trainers about martial arts and what he called 'Aikido.' Udon mostly tuned it out and wondered why anyone could possibly find talking so interesting, then was forced to regain interest as the two sparred, and Marquise showed phenomenal skill with a staff as he redirected and disarmed his opponent with relative ease, and without harming the trainer in any meaningful way. Coira pointed out that betters looking for a dark horse could do much worse than the quiet man who was sure to skyrocket up predicted placements once training scores were released.

Second place was District One, as they narrowly missed getting back to back first place moments. This one was all Troy, as he faced off against three trainers in a brawl with swords, and defeated the three of them without so much as breaking a sweat, bulldozing through them as if they were children and he were a man. With how large he was, that certainly seemed to be the case for the arena. Udon hoped that he met his end in what was sure to be a chaotic and messy bloodbath, because otherwise he was unsure of anyone's ability to defeat him in a square fight.

Finally, the top moment of the day was won over by Lana Birkhead of District Two. Udon watched with piqued interest as his potential future ally entered the simulation room on the highest possible difficulty, armed with two knives held in reverse grip in her hands. The simulation started, and scores of enemies stormed at her with weapons while arrows flew at her. She deftly dodged away from every strike, sliding and ducking her way through opponents and carefully placing her slashes on fatal arteries and muscles that left her opponents crippled. Within a few moments that left Udon's head spinning and unable to comprehend fully what was happening, all of Lana's virtual opponents were disarmed and motionless. Udon expected the clip to end, but it kept rolling just long enough to show Lana walk up to each individual opponent, methodically slitting each of their throats to insure the kill.

Udon felt his hands go slick with sweat, and he bit down on his tongue, shaking away the nerves that threatened to slip into his system. He was a survivor, he knew that. It didn't matter if the other tributes were trained and deadly in a one on one fight, because he'd never give them the chance. All of them would be dead by the end of the first day, and he'd be free to hunt down the weaklings that survived the bloodbath all on his lonesome. It didn't matter what he had to do to win, he would do it, and because of that he would be the one to earn the crown. No hesitation, no doubts, nothing that he'd refuse to do.

Udon Chang would survive, no matter what.

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**A/N: As always, Nightly Recap is posted to my blog if you want all the info from popularity rankings to predicted placements, to a summary of the featured moments and the confirmed alliances. Hope y'all enjoyed and see you next week with training day 2, featuring Marquise, Juniper, Talon, and River!**

**Trivia (1 point): Any moments that stand out to you/have you curious?**


	20. Training: The Fork

"The Fork"

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**A/N: This chapter is short, but I've been hitting some writer's block and really just wanted to get something out, so here we are!**

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_~I feel like new sunglasses, like a brand new pair of jeans_

_I feel like taking chances, I feel a lot like seventeen~_

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**Juniper Lourdes, 16, District Seven**

_How far are you allowed to go to avoid dying? _That question had been eating Juniper alive for the previous three days. It bounced around her bring, echoing and reverberating with every action she took, every careful word she placed. She hadn't chosen to be reaped, she didn't want to go into the arena. But she was, whether she liked it or not. And the options were to either let it happen, or to stay on her feet and fight. She didn't have skills with a weapon, or sticky fingers that allowed her to climb on walls, or a calculator of a brain that could solve any problem in an instant. Her talents came with people, and getting them to do what she wanted. It wasn't a gift she asked for, but it was the gift she had. Was it so wrong to use the only weapon she had to keep herself alive?

She wished that she could reason herself to some sort of answer, preferably a reassuring one. But there was nobody to bounce her thoughts off of. No Harlow to chat with on a quiet summer day in the forest, no mentor to give her the necessary advice she needed to win. It was just Juniper. Nobody was here to decide for her, or tell her what was right or wrong. If she did something evil because nobody was there to warn her otherwise, was that an excuse or an indictment?

Too many questions and not enough answers, that just about summarized Juniper's last few days. She really thought that life couldn't get any more complicated, any more muddled or morally disguised than life in District Seven already was. The universe seemed to have taken that as a joke, and it had delivered the punchline.

And now here she was. The previous night she had been highlighted as one of the standout tributes, and she was soaring up the popularity rankings. The enigmatic beauty from Seven, that was what the Capitol had taken to calling her. The other tributes were all just as interested, and in just a day of training she had found herself showered with alliance offers.

Her district partner Vesa was the most enthusiastic of the three, looking to add her to the large Career alliance spearheaded by the District Four dimwits. She had also spent some time with the large outlier alliance, spending a particular amount of time next to the popular boy from Twelve, Denver. And then there was the other Career pack, led by Talon Olympus. He hadn't outright offered her a position. He appeared out of nowhere while she was at a station, and started what was practically an interview session. The guy seemed smart, competent, and she had no doubts that this would be the strongest alliance in the arena. But still, something about talking to him. . . it was like he could see directly through her. She didn't like the feeling. While he expressed interest in her joining the alliance, she played her cards calmly, and told him she'd consider the offer.

Vesa chatted with her in a way Juniper was sure he thought to be charismatic the whole way down the elevator. He talked about he had originally intended on only allying with one or two people, but the Career opportunity was too good for them to pass up on. He told her how he needed someone he could trust with him in the alliance, and she was the only one he could be sure was actually trustworthy. She almost wanted to scoff at that, but nodded her head and pretended to be concerned. She would be sympathetic and friendly with the boy, even if she didn't end up joining his alliance. After all, he had been training, and there was a good chance she ran into him in the arena. If that happened, she wanted to be on his good side and meet him as a friend, not an opponent. It was amazing the effect a smile and a twirl of the hair had on people sometimes.

They arrived down on the training floor, and the second day of training began. Most of the serious competitors were already down, all of the Careers and the rest of the tributes that had set themselves aside as serious threats. Marquise, the girl from Five, even the young boy from Ten, Jamie, were all early.

Juniper took a moment to weigh her options. A night of thinking had left her with an idea of what she had to do, but she gave herself a moment in the midst of everyone to rethink her choice. This wasn't a simple decision she could go back on. This was life or death. The right decision could carry her all the way to the finale without having to get her hands dirty even once. The wrong one could see her carted away in a coffin before the canons started firing.

Talon Olympus was far too clever. He knew who she was. Yet he wanted her near him anyways. Maybe he could see beneath the manipulative surface she wore, but maybe he saw even deeper than that. Juniper wondered if the boy could somehow know that beneath everything, Juniper didn't want to hurt anyone. She did what she did not out of choice, but out of necessity. Panem was a dog eat dog world, and she intended to be feasting, not left out to scrounge for scraps. Surely someone who volunteered for the Hunger Games would understand that, of all people.

Yet still the risk remained. If she was wrong, if he didn't see that, then the alternative was far less sweet. He saw her as a risk, and wanted to keep her close in order to take her out as early as possible. That didn't sit well with her, and the chance of it being the truth was far closer to fifty percent than it was to zero. So no, she couldn't join with the boy from Two. It may have been the highest reward, but it was also the biggest risk, and she wasn't going to take risks with her life if she didn't need to.

Then there was the gaggle of outliers. Denver was loved by the Capitol, and actually pretty clever, and the girl from Eleven joining his side only added more brains to their alliance. But what the alliance had in brains, it fully lacked in brawn. Not a single person in the group weighed more than one-fifty pounds soaking wet, and in an arena with more than a handful of deadly killers, that was a problem Juniper wanted to avoid.

That left her with only one choice. Aphrodite and Logan were dumb as bricks, the both of them. Udon, Inesa, and Vesa all thought themselves clever, but none of them really were, for one simple reason. None of them had to put their brains to the test against anyone else. They got their way back home, she was sure. They probably were able to swindle and twist and poke and prod at family members and friends and make them do what they wanted. But to them that was just a game, just a little trick. For Juniper, it was her life. Her identity. Who she was. Juniper embraced it, even when she would rather be someone else.

Juniper knew who everyone in that alliance really was. What made them tick, their weaknesses and their strengths, and not a single one of them saw her as anything more than a pretty face. It was a familiar situation that Juniper had run through a thousand times before, and with everything going on, Juniper could go for some familiarity about now.

She allowed Vesa to meet up with the rest of his alliance at one of the stations before sauntering over, an effortlessly charming smile in place as she announced her presence to the group.

"My friend Vesa tells me you all are looking for one more member," she said.

"You interested?" Logan asked bluntly, and Juniper just smiled and twirled her hair, her eyes flirting up to the ceiling.

"I am," she said, and a slight purr slipped into her voice. "I can just tell looking at you all, we're gonna get along just great."

**Marquise Clifton, 18, District Eleven**

A part of Marquise always knew that he would be headed for the arena. For all the good he had tried to do, weighing out the bad he had down before still seemed impossible. His karmic scales were out of balance, and what better way for the universe to tip the scales to be more even? He saw the talking heads discussing his chances, predicting his odds at victory, placing their bets, they were even calling him a favorite. It was all temptation, urging him to try to fight for victory. Winning would mean survival, wealth, fame, adoration, all the things he had spent so much of his life obsessed with. But he had grown past those desires. Marquise was going into the arena, but he would not be heading out.

That didn't mean giving up. Giving up was never a luxury that Marquise had allowed himself, and now wouldn't be the time to start. He would fight, and do what he could to do right by others in the Games. In an arena where everyone and everything was obsessed with killing and harming one another, a single soul who was there to help was something they all needed, whether they realized it or not. This was his way to finally balance his scales, wipe away his debt, clear the ledger.

He was at the flexibility station, legs crossed and eyes closed as he focused on his senses. His bare feet on the mat, the humming of electricity in the air intercut with screams and grunts of exertion, he was a mist of calm in the midst of a chaotic ocean. A few people had already come up and tried to strike a conversation with him early in the morning. The boy from Two had asked him a few questions, and it had been a good chat. There was no talk of alliances or strategy or the arena, just philosophy and morals. The boy seemed genuinely interested in what Marquise had to say, and left him after a half-hour of talking, seeming a mix of pleased and disappointed. He must have not needed to ask to know that Marquise wouldn't be joining into any alliance with him.

There were a few others, but none of them had stuck with him in the same way. They had all been far more blunt and forthcoming. They wanted to ally, Marquise did not. The conversations were brief. They had all seemingly gotten the memo, though, and now he was left alone to sit in calm and silence. Loneliness was a familiar comfort, and he found peace in it. The rooftop had become his favorite place to visit once the day of training came to an end. He could stay at the training center, but there seemed to be at least somebody there at all hours of the day or night (most often the small girl from Two or either of the pair from One), and even when it was empty it didn't offer the same peace that the rooftop did.

There was a calm up there, looking down at the world from above, everything seemed so small and minute. His problems were far away, distant both in time and place. His memories could still haunt him, his scars still reminding him of the pain he caused, but ever since his name had been called those old bruises had felt less painful. He had worked to pay back the debt that he owed the universe for as long as he could, and now he was being pulled away from this life before he had the chance to slip back into evil or complacency. There was a simplicity and peace in his looming fate that he hadn't felt in a long time.

The world was one, and he didn't fear what came beyond life. The unknown of the future was far less fearful than the known of the past.

He spoke with Ciera for a while earlier in the morning, she was an early riser and caught him before he could go down to the training center. He didn't know what to make of her. It was hard for him to tell who she was, whether she was kind or wicked, truthful or dishonest. It's always hard to know who someone is when they don't seem to know themselves.

Marquise would keep an eye on her, though. She was District Eleven, just like him, and he owed a debt to anyone from the district, regardless of who they were. It felt like the list of people that he ought to look out for in the arena was growing by the day. It both sickened and relieved him that the list would be much shorter by the end of the first day.

He still didn't know what to do about the bloodbath. Would it be right for him to stand and fight, protecting those who would get caught in the crossfire of the warring Career packs? Or should he slip away, living to fight another day and protect those who were without protection? It was easy to philosophize and imagine, but reality tended to be much more abrupt and uncontrollable. No matter, though. Whatever came for him in the arena, he would be prepared. He had seen death before.

_Gauze pads covered the palms of his hands, hiding his scars. The hospital bed kept him propped up so that he could see the rest of the room. He was supposed to be getting rest, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes the same images would flash before him. Aledia, blood pouring from her chest, Célésie gurgling up blood as she gasped for air that wouldn't come, Lurita hanging from her bedroom window, bed sheets wrapped around her neck. And the image that stuck with him most of all; the sun beating down on his bloodied body, death completely surrounding him. Yet there he was, still alive. Forced to witness it all. One final punishment before he met the same fate._

Marquise opened his eyes, pushing aside the memory and focusing himself on the present. The mat pressed firmly against his feet and the palms of his hands. The artificial light hummed and cast down on him. Twenty-three children wandered the room. He was in the present, not the past. And soon, those scars would not haunt him anymore.

**Talon Olympus, 18, District Two**

Finding allies was proving to be more difficult than Talon would have imagined. It wasn't that there was a lack of good candidates, there were plenty of good options, it was just that all of them seemed determined to not get into an alliance. Troy and Vivian were already big losses, and Marquise could have been a perfect replacement had his moral code not gotten in the way of any chance for that. Ty and Julie from Three were decent options, but they were avoiding him like the plague and seemed content with their small alliance they had. And then Juniper and Ciera, his next two choices, went and found themselves separate alliances as well. He was glad to have a solid foundation with Maya and Lana, but it was beginning to look like slim pickings beyond them, and with seven people in the opposing Career alliance, he needed some more members desperately.

Nikola was still lurking nearby. Talon was keeping an eye on the man. He was dangerous, far more so than he appeared to be. The fact that he still wanted to be a part of Talon's alliance didn't sit well with him, but it was beginning to look like it may become necessary. He hoped it didn't come to that. There was still one more person that could salvage the alliance.

The girl from Five that had become known as River sat alone at the bow station, imperceptibly silent as she tip-toed around the course and poked holes in the targets. Lana shadowed him, following his gaze to the girl with a curious look in her eyes. He had managed to peel the daggers away from her for a short while, and that gave him enough peace of mind to approach the girl from Five without having to worry about Lana slitting her throat open like she had nearly done to Nikola earlier in the morning when he attempted to talk to them.

He approached River as she was standing at the firing range, loosing arrows against targets, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She didn't turn to face him, but her feet shifted in the subtlest of ways, her fingers clenching around the wooden frame of her bow.

"You're a good shot," Talon said nonchalantly. He leaned his back up against the wall, and flashed a friendly smile. Lana stood awkwardly and continued to glare.

River stopped for a moment, still holding the bow tight and staring across the range. She nodded her head.

"Who taught you to shoot like that?" Talon asked. He was fairly sure she knew how to speak, Nikola had said as much, but as his response continued to be met with silence, he found himself doubting that.

At last, she pulled away, her arrow facing the floor as she turned to Talon. Her eyes shined with curiosity. "Wanderer," she said simply.

Talon took a moment to take that in, then hesitantly said, "Wanderer, this is a person?"

She gave him a peculiar look, then nodded her head. "Yes." She turned back to the range, and knocked another arrow. Talon walked up beside her, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"How much of what's going on do you understand?" Talon asked, half to the girl and have to himself. "Do you even know where we're going?"

River loosed an arrow, and it hit the dummy in the eye. "Survive," she said quietly.

Talon nodded his head, and grabbed another bow, tracing his fingers along the wooden frame. "Survive, yeah. That's the goal." He peered over to her. "Tends to be hard to do alone."

"No," she said firmly. Her next arrow hit the target in the neck. "Alone."

"Are you sure about that?" He asked. "Lana, Maya, and I would all love to have you with us. We're stronger together, right?"

She set down the bow, and looked down at the ground, shaking her head grimly. "No. Bad."

"You think that we're bad people?" Talon laughed. "Trust me, I make sure there's no bad people in our group."

"No," she said again, with more emphasis this time. "Bad."

Talon eyed her curiously at that, but before he could get a chance to ask her to elaborate she was gone, hurriedly walking over to the elevator. Training ended in a few minutes, but still, it was odd. The girl had stayed late and woken up early every day so far, so why the sudden exit? There were too many questions about the girl from Five to even begin to search for answers, and as much as it troubled him, Talon forced himself to set those questions aside. He had to focus on the now, and what could be. If River wasn't an option, that narrowed the field considerably. He didn't want to play the game dangerously, he'd much prefer to keep a group of safe, trustable people around him. But if he needed to play the Games on the edge, he could do that too, and he could do it better than anyone else.

And luckily for Talon, he had somebody who was the perfect candidate for the new structure of his Career pack. Talon peered back over to where Nikola Surge looked on discreetly, and flashed the man a smile.

The Career pack was about to get far more dangerous.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, shorty little chapter. Gotta break that writer's block somehow, though. There won't be any Nightly Recap chapter this time, but I'll still be posting all that info on the blog, so check that out if you want to. I'm streamlining the pre-games just a little bit, because I was realizing that a few of these POVs were just filler and weren't actually necessary. Next chapter (and the final training chapter) just so happened to end up being the kiddos: River, Julie, Lana, and Sparrow. See you all then (hopefully next week)!**


	21. Private Sessions Report

**A/N: Private session report! If you can't/don't want to read the entire thing that's cool, I'd suggest at least reading over the observations for all the tributes though. Read as much or as little as you want though.**

* * *

_Note: The following is an official copy of the Private Session report for the one-hundred-second annual Hunger Games. Inside contains reports of the twenty-four tributes, including the skills they demonstrated during their session, their assumed strategy, any exceptionalities, their current odds, potential talking points for interviewer Coira Thompson, as well as general observations from Head Gamemaker Gaius Caracalla._

_Note: Raw input score (RIS) is a score out of 5 that is based purely on the average performance of their top 3 skills they were assessed on during their private session. The training score is then calculated based on RIS, the usefulness of the abilities they displayed, as well as other factors that were observed during the 3 days of training._

* * *

_TROY MAGNISON, 18, DISTRICT ONE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Troy was quick to showcase his weaponry talent. He began with the sword, then moved onto the battle-axe, and finished his session with a showcase of his skills in unarmed combat. In each of the three categories he handily defeated the trio of trainers he faced. He seemed to face no difficulty in doing so, and physically dominated each of his opponents._

_STRATEGY: Troy has split off from the Career pack for reasons that seem to border somewhere close to religious beliefs. He intends on fighting both the opposing Career alliances at the bloodbath, and has every intention of dying there. His district partner has joined him in this mission, and as odd as the strategy is, with their combined ability, they might just leave the bloodbath the lone survivors._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Troy has unrivaled strength among the 24 tributes. He's a grown man among children, and in a fair fight no single person will come close to defeating him. He's quite dim, and appears to have brain damage from a TBI earlier in his life, though doctors have yet to confirm this._

_ODDS: 1:7_

_RIS: 5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Troy is an explosive personality. He's incredibly loud, and surprisingly positive and kind. Give him someone to bounce off of, and he'll steal the show with his eccentric personality. Try to dig into his reasoning for volunteering, there's some interesting stuff there, and for someone so incredibly likely to emerge as victor, it would serve in our interests to know his reasoning before he enters the arena._

_OBSERVATIONS: Troy is a force of positivity, strength, and energy that would make him a beloved and popular victor, and one far different from the quiet, reserved batch we currently have. Dimwitted, overly trusting, painfully naive and optimistic. Panem could use a victor like him right now._

_VIVIAN OSTERA, 18, DISTRICT ONE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Vivian showcased their skills with a bow and arrow, seeing moderate to impressive skill. They also showcased their stealth and mobility, as well as their hand-to-hand combat skills, the former being impressive and the latter adequate._

_STRATEGY: Vivian has broken off the main Career alliance and teamed up with Troy. They seem to have no sort of strategy or plan, aimlessly following their district partner despite him seemingly leading them to an early death at the bloodbath._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Vivian was hospitalized slightly over a year ago after being assaulted by their (at the time) significant other. They still have scars from the incident, and seem to be suffering psychologically from the traumatic event as well._

_ODDS: 1:9_

_RIS: 4_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: They're not likely to open up, particularly about their past. If you want something to work with, your best bet is to focus on their alliance with Troy, their time in the Capitol, and their motivation to win the Games._

_OBSERVATIONS: Vivian seems a fairly standard Career, but is anything but. They have that fire and determination that has been a marker of victors before, yet they have weaknesses that hold them back. Troy is a liability, and their past trauma may prove to cripple them in this specific arena. They could make a decent victor, if not for the string of District One victors we've had that we should be inclined to snap._

_TALON OLYMPUS, 18, DISTRICT TWO_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Talon demonstrated admirable skill with the sword and bow, then showcased his athleticism by running the gauntlet at an impressive speed._

_STRATEGY: Talon has broken away from District Four and started his own Career alliance, consisting of his district partner and a slew of impressive outliers. He has firm control of the alliance, and meticulously picked each member, though he didn't always get his first choice._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Talon has an incredibly rare condition known as Urbach-Wiethe disorder. He physically cannot feel fear._

_ODDS: 1:6_

_RIS: 4.75_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Talon is intelligent, charming, and thoughtful. No matter how you tackle the interview he'll find a way to approach it in a way that will win over a fair share of sponsors to his cause. Maybe highlight his unlikely alliance and his sibling-like relationship with his district partner. Feel free to go wherever you like, though. Talon will be able to handle it._

_OBSERVATIONS: If you were to design a victor from scratch, Talon would be the exact result. He's perfectly tailored for the Hunger Games, especially with this year's arena and the breakdown of the Career alliance. If I were a betting man, I would wager it all on Talon, and feel safe doing so. A loyal patriot and idealist, nobody would make a better victor for Panem than Talon Olympus._

_LANA BIRKHEAD, 12, DISTRICT TWO_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Lana entered the virtual reality chamber and demonstrated her fighting skills with a pair of daggers. She dispatched of her opponents with impressive mobility and intelligence, and defeated the hardest difficulty opponents without ever coming close to danger._

_STRATEGY: Lana has attached herself to her district partner's side, though it is hard to tell exactly what her plan is. She rarely speaks unless spoken to, and seems distrustful of everyone. Her strategy in the arena is anyone's guess._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Lana has no record to speak off, existing completely off the grid. Current working theory in the CDA is that she was adopted as an orphan by Birkhead Industries and has been trained since birth to be a perfect killing machine in order to win the Games. Why they would do this, and what would encourage them to send her in at the age of twelve, is as of yet unknown, though an investigation is ongoing._

_ODDS: 1:10_

_RIS: 5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: She isn't mute, and seems to actually be quite intelligent, thoughtful, and well-spoken. You're just going to have to be direct and dig deep in order to get answers. STEER CLEAR AWAY FROM HER LIFE BEFORE THE GAMES. Focus on her time in the Capitol and her strategy for the Games._

_OBSERVATIONS: This is an interesting case. We should have predicted that one of those unregulated industrial complexes would try something like this eventually. We'll make an example of Birkhead Industries, but that doesn't need to reflect on Lana. She's easily the most talented fighter in the arena, although her age will certainly hold her back. Her and Talon will be a peculiar pair to keep an eye on throughout the arena._

_TY BALE, 16, DISTRICT THREE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Ty lifted some weights, ran the agility course, and tried the climbing wall, each to middling results. He did nothing overly impressive, yet didn't fail either._

_STRATEGY: Ty has allied with his district partner Julie, and the two have developed a competitive yet seemingly close relationship._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Ty is a high-school dropout._

_ODDS: 1:25_

_RIS: 2.5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Ty is a crowd-pleaser. He's charming, charismatic, and funny. Let him loose. He's also apparently a big fan of yours, so be prepared for him to maybe be a bit star-struck._

_OBSERVATIONS: Ty is a star in the making, a personality the Capitol has already fallen in love with, and has enough talent to give him a fighting chance in the arena. If we don't have a Career victor this year, we could do far worse than Ty Bale. Keep an eye on him and Julie and keep them together, they're sure to provide plenty of entertainment as long as they stay together as a duo._

_JULIE NOVUM, 14, DISTRICT THREE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Julie showed off some mediocre skills with a knife, decent agility, and astonishingly impressive climbing abilities._

_STRATEGY: Julie has allied with her district partner, and has the full support of her estranged brother Dalton Faux, who is serving as her mentor._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Julie is the sister of victor Dalton Faux. She broke her hand recently, though it has healed just in time for the Games and judging by her climbing ability, is good as new._

_ODDS: 1:49_

_RIS: 3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Just like Ty, Julie a crowd-pleaser. Play off of her relationship with Dalton if you want, or just let her run wild. She's a fiery, electric personality that will be sure to win over the audience and have them cheering for the underdog._

_OBSERVATIONS: It may not be too unlikely we get our second ever pair of victor siblings this year. Julie has the x-factor that we love to look for in outer district contenders. She has a fire and spirit that not many others do, and her climbing should allow her to maneuver the arena far more safely than any others. Keep her alive long enough and she could warrant tipping the odds in her favor for what would surely be a popular victor._

_LOGAN HURT, 18, DISTRICT FOUR_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Logan demonstrated skill with swords, spear, and bow, all to the normal proficiency we expect of Careers._

_STRATEGY: Logan has formed a Career alliance made up of outliers that he and Aphrodite chose seemingly randomly._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: His sister was killed under mysterious circumstances a few days prior to last year's reaping._

_ODDS: 1:14_

_RIS: 4_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: He hasn't really shown us much since he got here. He's been quiet, and hasn't done anything of notable interest. Maybe dig into his sister's death to see if there's something interesting there, because otherwise he seems about as dull as they come._

_OBSERVATIONS: District Four seems to be lacking good volunteers, we might consider pouring some money into their academies to keep them afloat. Logan demonstrates no notable skills, and lacks the interesting personality we've come to expect from Careers. Assuming he survives the bloodbath, he'll be an early target to test out our mutts this year._

_APHRODITE SILVA, 18, DISTRICT FOUR_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Aphrodite demonstrated adequate skills with the bow, spear, and sword, at a near-identical level to her district partner._

_STRATEGY: See Logan's section._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: N/A_

_ODDS: 1:11_

_RIS: 4_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Aphrodite has become one of the most popular tributes of this year's batch, and it's no surprise why, though her popularity has steadily dropped. Let her play her angle and strut her stuff, it's her only chance of keeping herself at the top of the rankings._

_OBSERVATIONS: Aphrodite might be a decently strong dark horse if she were able to slip into the background of a large, strong Career pack. But with this year's strange Career situation forcing her to take charge of an alliance, she's been put in way over her head. Even if her alliance does survive the bloodbath, it'll splinter by the end of the second day. If Aphrodite doesn't have anything else hidden to offer, she'll fit in the same category as Logan: mutt fodder._

_NIKOLA SURGE, 17, DISTRICT FIVE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Nikola starting his session by showcasing adequate fighting skills with a dagger. He also showcased decent speed, and an impressive command of trap making._

_STRATEGY: Nikola has wormed his way into Talon's career alliance, despite District Two's initial hesitancy. He's quickly gained the trust of the other members, but Talon and Lana remain distant, and Nikola seems fearful of the duo. Nikola should be expected to exit the alliance early, likely attempting to sabotage or backstab his allies on the way out._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Nikola's father has recently been connected to an underground drug-smuggling and human-trafficking criminal syndicate, with his business as a front. Nikola works at HR at the business, and it's unclear if he knows of the business' true dealings._

_ODDS: 1:24_

_RIS: 3.3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Nikola puts on a charming facade, and can work his way through a conversation well. You should be fine. Maybe push him on his alliance and his father?_

_OBSERVATIONS: Nikola would make a solid outer-district victor. Strong, charming, independent when he needs to be, but able to play nice and work with allies while also keeping his distance. However, his alliance situation leaves much to be desired, and his father's criminal activity is a worrisome development. In such a stacked field of outer-district contenders, we can afford to lose him in the arena._

"_RIVER", ~14?, DISTRICT FIVE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: "River" seemed to have little concept of the idea that she was being graded. She was goaded into showing off her talent with a bow, which was exemplary, then was excused._

_STRATEGY: River has remained independent, actively avoiding others that have approached her, such as Talon Olympus and Marquise Clifton._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: See attached CDA file. Summary: outcast from a village nearby Five that somehow lived isolated from Panem for the last few hundred years. Age, name, family all unknown. She isn't mute, but she doesn't seem too interested in speaking to anyone either._

_ODDS: 1:49_

_RIS: 4.75_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: She can talk, even if her grasp of spoken language is tenuous. This'll be a tough one, but you've faced worse interviewees. Perhaps speak to her about her home?_

_OBSERVATIONS: If you're looking for a dark horse victor, this is your bet. 1:49 odds is an absolute steal that any gambler should be leaping on. She's independent, a survivalist who's comfortable in nature, and seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to danger, all wrapped up with a talent with the bow challenging that of our previous year's victor Hailey Hills. Don't be surprised when you see her quietly surviving to make a deep run into the Games. Given our current state of victors, however, we might want to step in and ensure a more charismatic victor exits the arena._

_JULIAN CLEMENT, 14, DISTRICT SIX_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Julian didn't seem to take his private session seriously, in much the same way he's treated all of training. He lazily threw some daggers with mediocre results, and then exited before his allotted time was complete._

_STRATEGY: He's allied himself with many of the other weaker outliers, none of which possess any notable weapon skills. He doesn't seem to have much plan, and doesn't appear to be taking things seriously._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Julian tested positive for ADD in a Capitol examination._

_ODDS: 1:99_

_RIS: 1_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: He's lazy, but a relatively funny and light-hearted kid. Crack some jokes with him and he'll open up._

_OBSERVATIONS: Bloodbath fodder, just like the rest of his alliance._

_EARHART ROBERTSON, 15, DISTRICT SIX_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Earhart presented some mediocre crafting skills, which seemed to be the only thing they were able to show._

_STRATEGY: Earhart is a part of an alliance of weaker outliers. See Julian's section._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Earhart declined to appear for their screening, so we were unable to confirm any development issues or conditions that are suspected._

_ODDS: 1:99_

_RIS: 1_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Earhart is a bit of a daydreamer, and tends to doze off of conversations. Work to ensure they stay in the moment and keep attention on you, it won't be easy._

_OBSERVATIONS: See Julian's section._

VESA CARLISLE, 18, DISTRICT SEVEN

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Vesa showed that he had nothing in his hands as he approached a dummy. He then pulled a knife out of his sleeve with impressive sleight of hand, and attacked the dummy with moderate skill._

_STRATEGY: Vesa has joined the D4 career alliance, along with his district partner Juniper. He's somewhat of an outsider in the alliance, and if he has any strategy beyond sticking with his alliance, he isn't showing it._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Vesa has trained for the past year after being coerced by Peacekeepers to volunteer following a robbery of the Peacekeeper storage._

_ODDS: 1:19_

_RIS: 4_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Avoid the whole training debacle, in fact, avoid his whole life back in District Seven just to be safe. Focus on his time in the Capitol and his alliance, and try to get out of him what his plans for the arena are._

_OBSERVATIONS: A criminal who robbed from Peacekeepers isn't going to be allowed to win. That being said, a trained outlier makes for good drama, so keep him around for a bit. Let the mutts take him out at the later stages if he stays around for too long._

_JUNIPER LOURDES, 16, DISTRICT SEVEN_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Juniper had a standard private session. She showcased respectable climbing skills, basic hand to hand combat talent, and impressive plant identification._

_STRATEGY: In an alliance where everyone appears to think they're playing everyone else, Juniper seems to be the top dog of the D4 career alliance. What she intends to do with her successful manipulation remains to be seen._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: N/A_

_ODDS: 1:23_

_RIS: 2.5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Juniper is charming, intelligent, and well-spoken. Let her take over the interview and she'll have Panem falling in love with her._

_OBSERVATIONS: Juniper will be a favorite undoubtedly, and someone as well-spoken and adored as her would make an excellent victor. She should thrive in this year's arena, and will be just as fierce a contender as any outlier._

_UDON CHANG, 16, DISTRICT EIGHT_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Udon made a makeshift nail bomb with crafting supplies, upon safe detonation afterwards it produced a fairly powerful explosion that would be able to kill a tribute or mutt in close proximity._

_STRATEGY: Udon is currently a part of the D4 career alliance, but seems to be considering joining the D2 career alliance instead. Either way, he seems content with the idea of abandoning either alliance after the bloodbath._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: His father is the mayor back in D8. The man is currently being investigated for corruption._

_ODDS: 1:24_

_RIS: 4_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: He's vulgar and stand-offish, and lacks any sort of charm, but he's a clever enough kid. Try to butter him up and you might avoid him cussing you out the entire time._

_OBSERVATIONS: Udon would be a strong contender for victor if his personality weren't so brash and unlikable. As it stands, he'll likely be the first to get a knife in his back when the career pack falls apart._

_INESA HUGO, 18, DISTRICT EIGHT_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Inesa showed decent skill with a knife, then went on to show herself to be capable at the agility course and scavenging station._

_STRATEGY: Inesa is attempting to manipulate Udon and the rest of the D4 career pack, and seems to be doing a decent job of it, though Juniper seems to have a lead on her._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: N/A_

_ODDS: 1:49_

_RIS: 2.5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Inesa has a solid grasp on the Career alliance, and seems to know how to manipulate an audience. Ask her about how she ended up with the Careers so early on._

_OBSERVATIONS: There's a lot of manipulative tributes this year, and Inesa doesn't seem to have the extra ability to give her the edge over the competition. Perhaps she'll prove us wrong in the arena._

_ARNOLD SMITT, 18, DISTRICT NINE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Arkus entered the room, loudly declared himself to be immortal, then exited the room._

_STRATEGY: He's allied himself with the D4 career alliance, albeit tentatively. What he does in the Games is anyone's guess._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Arnold has an offshoot of Cotard Delusion, though instead of believing himself to already be dead, he believes himself to be immortal._

_ODDS: 1:49_

_RIS: 0_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Good luck._

_OBSERVATIONS: He could be a pretty solid contender if he weren't such an idiot._

_MAYA HOOVER, 18, DISTRICT NINE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Maya showcased decent talent with a knife, and moderate ability with scavenging and crafting._

_STRATEGY: Maya has allied with the D2 career alliance, and seems closest to Talon and Lana out of any of the outsiders._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: N/A_

_ODDS: 1:39_

_RIS: 3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Maya is witty and loves to speak, she should provide an interesting interview. Make sure to bring up her alliance with Talon._

_OBSERVATIONS: Maya is a solid dark horse candidate, though her choice of allies makes victory difficult, as it's doubtful she outlasts the D2 duo. If she manages to separate herself before the end-game, however, perhaps with some mutt help, you could find less likely dark horse choices._

_JAMIE CURIE, 12, DISTRICT TEN_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Jamie was incredibly cordial and respectful during his session, in which he presented moderate scavenging and crafting ability._

_STRATEGY: Jamie has allied with a few other weak outliers, all of whom seem determined to protect him._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Jamie saved the life of a Peacekeeper when his apothecary parents were out of town, and is generally beloved by the District Ten community._

_ODDS: 1:99_

_RIS: 2_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: He's a sweetheart, and the Capitol already loves him. Highlight how good of a kid he is. Kid's a hero and a patriot, make sure everyone sees him as such._

_OBSERVATIONS: It's a shame he was reaped, it's rare we see such a loyal patriot and kind citizen. He would have gone far in life, but sadly in the Games he's beyond a long shot._

_PERSEPHONE SASKIA, 16, DISTRICT TEN_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Persephone demonstrated her ability with axes on dummies, which was moderate, though she refused to spar with trainers._

_STRATEGY: Persephone has isolated herself from others, completely distancing herself from all other tributes._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: See classified CDA document. Summary: parents were murdered by Peacekeeper raid, Persephone possibly subject to sexual assault, though this is still under investigation._

_ODDS: 1:49_

_RIS: 2.5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Persephone is closed off, especially about her past, but she's relatively determined to win. Focus on that aspect, her motivation and desire to come out as victor._

_OBSERVATIONS: Persephone will struggle in this year's arena, which is a shame, because otherwise she could have been a good underdog victor. As it stands, death at the bloodbath might be the best thing that can happen to her._

_MARQUISE CLIFTON, 18, DISTRICT ELEVEN_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Marquise was calm and cordial the entire private session. He explained his fighting philosophy, and then sparred with a trainer, easily disarming and subduing multiple expert trainers, and showing extreme talent with a bo staff._

_STRATEGY: Marquise is going solo, and intends to wander the arena, helping those that need assistance._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: There's a lot. See attached CDA files. Summary: Marquise belonged to a wealthy plantation family, though an uprising saw his entire family brutally murdered, including his younger sisters. He was crucified and left to die, though he miraculously survived. Since then he's gone off the grid, apparently wandering the district._

_ODDS: 1:12_

_RIS: 4.5_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Marquise is soft-spoken and mature, and should handle the interview fine. He's a fascinating young man, and well-spoken at that, get him to tell his story and we should have a crowd favorite._

_OBSERVATIONS: Marquise is one of the most moral tributes we've ever seen, despite a truly dark past. His altruism will most likely be the end of him in the arena, but he has enough talent to emerge victorious, and he would make an intriguing victor._

_CIERA OCUSSIA, 18, DISTRICT ELEVEN_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Ciera showcased her impressive memory, as well as her equally impressive trap-making and shelter-creation ability._

_STRATEGY: Ciera seems conflicted on whether to join the D2 career alliance or stick with the group of weak outliers._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: N/A_

_ODDS: 1:29_

_RIS: 3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: Like many others, she's charming and intelligent, and should be able to handle any interview questions deftly. Push her on her choice of alliance, there should be some good drama there._

_OBSERVATIONS: Ciera is another of our dark-horse contenders, though that potential hinges entirely on which alliance she chooses to join. She may enjoy the company of Denver, but that alliance is a lost cause, while the D2 career pack is the strongest in the arena. Winning the Games requires making difficult choices for one's survival, and her first test has already been given._

_DENVER LYON, 18, DISTRICT TWELVE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Denver was amiable and cracked self-deprecating jokes throughout his private session. He showcased impressive skills at numerous survival stations, though he announced his refusal to use a weapon as a self-proclaimed pacifist._

_STRATEGY: Denver has allied with the aforementioned outer-district alliance of underdogs._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Denver is a student at Pioneer University in the Capitol, where he is widely beloved by the community and is a star student. He was going to be spending the summer as a research assistant for a Nature-Gamemaker, specifically our Cordyceps expert. That knowledge may come in handy during the Games._

_ODDS: 1:149_

_RIS: 3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: He's already a star in the Capitol's eyes, let him shine._

_OBSERVATIONS: It's a shame, really, and represents a flaw in our current reaping system. People will be upset about his death, and it would be beneficial if we could somehow make him victor, particularly considering the unrest that is still hanging over from Prestige's defeat last year. However, a pacifist will have a tough time emerging victorious in this year's arena. What a waste._

_SPARROW KALANI, 12, DISTRICT TWELVE_

_PRIVATE SESSION REPORT: Sparrow was quiet and focused during her private session, during which she showed surprisingly impressive survival skills and memorization._

_STRATEGY: Sparrow has decided not to ally herself with the outlier group that her district partner is leading, and is instead going solo, an interesting choice for someone with no weapon skills and minimal sponsor attention._

_EXCEPTIONALITIES: Sparrow seems to have low latent inhibition or some degree of autism, though further testing would be required._

_ODDS: 1:99_

_RIS: 3_

_NOTES TO INTERVIEWER: She's quiet and shy, but observant, clever, and surprisingly competent and thoughtful. Dig deep and you might be able to make people remember the girl who has thus far gone unnoticed._

_OBSERVATIONS: It's a shame she's gone under the radar, because she really is a talented and bright young girl. Sadly, that isn't enough to win the Games, and her lack of an alliance will make surviving the mutts a gargantuan task._

_CLOSING NOTES_

_It's an interesting batch of tributes this year. With the splintered career packs, we have more potential victors than any year in recent memory. There's a dozen tributes that would make fine victors, and half of those would be phenomenal victors - victors that Panem is desperately in need of at the moment. I'm not normally one for suggesting a rigging of the Games in certain tributes favor, but with the current state of our nation we're in dire need of an inspiring and unifying victor. Troy Magnison, Talon Olympus, Ty Bale, Julie Novum, Jamie Curie, Marquise Clifton, and Denver Lyon are all phenomenal choices that could help our country to heal in the trying years to come._

_It is my humble suggestion that we do what it takes to ensure Panem remains as it always has been, and always must be: unified, and strong._

_Sincerely,_

_Head Gamemaker Gaius Caracalla_


	22. Scores: Scared of the Dark

"Scared of the Dark"

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**A/N: We got a POV from Lana here as we go through the scores! I'm on winter break now for the next two months, so I'm hoping to speed through and finish the story within that time. Also I didn't edit this because I'm lazy so sorry if there's some grammar errors lmao.**

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_~I'm not scared of the dark_

_I'm not running, running, running_

_No, I'm not afraid of the fall~_

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**Lana Birkhead, 12, District Two**

The District Two floor was bustling. Talon invited the rest of the alliance over after the private sessions to watch the nightly recap and the scores, and the room was loud for the first time since the girl had gotten to the Capitol. She had tried going down to the training center afterwards, but they barred her from entry. Closed for the rest of their time in the Capitol, the Peacekeepers had told her. She wasn't sure what to do with herself anymore, and so she wandered the District Two floor aimlessly.

Maya, Nikola, and Talon were seated on the sofa, chatting about something or another. She kept an ear on the conversation, just out of habit, but she could tell it wasn't anything important. It was just jokes and predictions, ways to pass the time before the scores were revealed. And they were loud.

The escorts and fill-in mentors were there too, everyone except for Audra, who according to Nikola had abandoned him in favor of his district partner. They were all discussing sponsorships, alliance technicalities, all intercut with bits and pieces of gossip and rumors. All except for the stand-in mentor for District Two, Dashiel Domacles. He was off to the side, flipping through a notebook and jotting down notes as he averted his eyes from anyone who looked his way.

The television flicked to life and the noise only got louder as the nightly recap started up, Coira Thompson and Fabius Flickerman starting off with their introductions. The popularity rankings were first, and Talon was still on top as before. She didn't pay attention to the rest of it. It didn't mean anything to her. She didn't fully understand it all, and that didn't matter. She knew what she had to do, and it was simple. At least, it would be once they were in the arena.

They began scrolling through predicted placements, and there was some sort of celebration related to it, but she turned her interest completely away as she focused on the stand-in mentor who was off by himself. He jolted at the explosion of celebration, and his hands shook as his eyes darted timidly around the room. He looked scared. She wasn't sure why.

He didn't notice her as she walked up beside him, looking up at the man with peculiar interest. His breath was ragged as he backed himself further against the wall, away from the rest of the room.

It was like looking into a reflection, and she couldn't look away from the man. She remembered being curled up in a ball in the corner of a dark room, bruises on her face, cuts on her arms, and holding a hand to her heart. And breathing in, and out. In. And out. Until eventually all the fear slipped away, and she would be ready to be calm again.

She reached out a hand, half out of instinct, and the man flinched in fear as he noticed her for the first time. She placed a hand on his heart, and said quietly, "breathe."

He looked down at her nervously, but then did as she said, taking in a shaky breath as he glanced around the room with timid eyes. She stepped away and motioned for him to put his hand at his heart. He did so, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but she had already turned away from him.

The noise had died down ever so slightly, but still she felt tremors in her hands that she fought to control. She thought about heading down the elevator to try and slip into the training center again, but was called over by Talon before she got the opportunity.

"They're showing the scores, might be worth checking out," he called out to her.

She nodded her head and walked over to the couch, intending to stand beside the group. Talon scooted over to make room, though, and motioned for her to take a seat at the end of the sofa. She sat down reluctantly, sure to keep as much distance between her and the rest of the group as she hugged the end of the couch.

"What do you guys think you got?" Maya asked excitedly. "I'm thinking a solid seven for me. And Nikola, well, can you get a negative number for your score?"

Nikola laughed dryly, flashing a smile that the girl immediately decided was as fake as everything else that came from the man. Maya seemed to not come to the same conclusion, and laughed along with him, while Talon just kept up a nonchalant smirk.

"If we can get sevens across the board and double digits for me, we should be considered the strongest alliance in the Games." He shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to have sponsors and betters thinking of us as the top dogs."

She peered at Talon curiously. He had explained the scoring system to her during their weight in the lunchroom while District One was having their sessions. According to him, seven was either an outlier who was decently strong, or an incredibly weak Career. And now he was saying that she would get a seven?

"They usually drop people's scores lower than they belong if they're younger," Talon said, not even glancing at the girl as he seemed to read her thoughts. He looked over at her and gave her a reassuring smile. "Whatever score you get, you can add two to it and that's what you probably really earned."

She smiled at that, just a brief flash of one before she turned to the television and focused her attention on the voice of the commentators. She had all the alliances mapped out in her head, all the threats and tributes to watch out for. This was just more data, one more piece of the puzzle to help her piece together how she would win. Failure was never an option.

"_First up, let's start things off with a bang with our second most popular tribute, the fearsome Troy Magnison of District One! Troy Magnison, with a score of. . . 11!"_

She looked over to Talon, attempting to read his face for any sign of a reaction. He stayed completely unfazed though, seeming not surprised in the slightest at his main rival getting a score higher than the one he predicted himself to get. Maya was more vocal with her displeasure, letting out a loud groan.

"Great, now District One is going to steal all the hype, no matter what his district partner scores."

"Not necessarily," Talon said calmly. We all looked at him curiously, but he offered nothing more.

His district partner only scored an eight, but still the excitement was all on District One and their combined score of nineteen. She didn't worry about either of them, though. Troy Magnison was slow and dumb, and Vivian Ostera weak and hesitant.

"_And now the man who has claimed the number one spot on the popularity rankings, Talon Olympus of District Two! Talon Olympus, with a score of. . . 11!"_

A cheer of celebration rang through the room from tributes, escorts, and mentors alike, and Maya gave him an excited high-five as she pumped her fist in the air.

"Let's go, Two! Way to show up those D1 chumps."

Everyone was so busy celebrating, it seemed nobody else but her and Talon were even paying attention as Coira Thompson called out the next score.

"_-and Lana Birkhead of District Two, with a score of. . . of 10? Lana Birkhead, with a score of 10!"_

The room quieted for a moment as everyone's eyes fell on her. Then, Talon let out a cheer, and everyone else fell in after. A few escorts came up and gave her pats on the back, and one of them ruffled their hand through her hair and Talon had to hold her arm so she didn't break their fingers.

Maya and Nikola started chatting about how the alliance was going to be considered the most powerful by a long shot, while escorts and mentors talked about Hunger Games history and broken records. Ty Bale got a five and Julie Novum received a six, and Lana looked over at Talon, wanting to smile but keeping herself from doing so.

"I add two to my score still, right?" She asked.

Talon laughed at that, shaking his head. "You got jokes now, huh?" He nodded, giving her an approving look. "Good job, kid."

A smile quirked at her lips, and she bit it back, looking down to her lap and fiddling with her hands as she kept her ear on the television, not wanting to miss anything. Not that there was much to miss, both from District Four got eights, and Nikola got the seven he had predicted, which caused another round of cheers to echo through the apartment.

"You too," she finally said, turning back to him. "Good job."

He looked at her oddly, tilting his head. "I knew you were gonna hit double digits," he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. He turned back to the television. "I wasn't talking about your score."

Now it was her turn to tilt her head in confusion, but before she could begin to search for an explanation, the next score was announced.

"_River of District Five, with a score of. . . 9!"_

The apartment was quiet, aside from Talon letting out a low whistle as he turned to Nikola. "Maybe we chose the wrong tribute from Five," he said, and even though it sounded like a joke she knew that it wasn't one. The big careers from District One and Four never scared her. They were dumb, and slow, and they fought like they were hitting a dummy and not a person. But when she watched the girl from Five using a bow, a nervous bit of fear ran down her spine. She imagined herself on the other end of that arrow, and didn't notice as she subconsciously slid closer to Talon on the couch.

The two from District Six put up the lowest scores by far, both of them earning a two, which didn't surprise her at all. They never spent any time at stations, they would just run around and laugh and joke with the boy from Twelve.

District Seven did decently, enough to make the alliance they were a part of a bit more strong anyways. Vesa Carlisle matched Nikola with a seven, while Juniper Lourdes earned a five. Udon Chang and Inesa Hugo of District Eight continued the decent showing for their alliance with a six and another five.

"Oh yeah, I should mention," Nikola chirped up as Udon's score flashed across the screen. "That Udon kid came up to me earlier this morning, was asking me a lot of questions about the alliance. Seemed like he was feeling us out, might be interested in switching."

"From what I've seen of him, I'm sure he's already thinking of how he'll ask me," Talon hummed. "What do you all think? We let him in, or is five a crowd?"

"I think he's a jackass." Maya shrugged. "But fighting their alliance four on seven doesn't sound fun. I'd like my odds of not dying a lot more in a five on six. Plus, one of us probably dies in the bloodbath anyways," she said almost too pleasantly.

"All valid points," Talon said, seeming pleased. "What do you think?" He asked, turning towards her.

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the television. It didn't matter to her either way. She didn't trust any of them, but it didn't make a difference if they were sleeping in the tent next to her or if they were somewhere else in the arena. The man had told her that. Keep your enemies close, he said. That, and sleep with one eye open. She had plenty of practice at that.

"You just better outscore your district partner, Nine," Nikola said half-jokingly. "Last thing we need is for them to steals the spotlight as the strongest alliance cause Mr. Immortal shows you up."

Maya snorted. "Yeah, trust me when I say I sincerely doubt that'll be a problem."

"_Arnold "Arkus" Smitt of District Nine, with a score of. . . 1."_

Maya burst into laughter, and Nikola chuckled in disbelief. "That's gotta hurt the ego."

"I wouldn't worry about that," she muttered.

Maya followed up with a six, one lower than she expected but still more than enough to completely outshine her district partner. All together, their alliance had a combined score of thirty-four, while the other alliance had a combined score of forty, only six higher even with an extra three members.

Talon vocalized the same thought, and briefly congratulated everyone on their impressive work. "Now, we just need to take it home at the interviews and we'll already be halfway to victory. We can meet up tomorrow to work together on what to do there and at the party."

While everyone agreed and worked out the exact details of that, the rest of the scores flashed across the screen, with not many surprises. Jamie Curie got a three, and Persephone Saskia got a four. Marquise Clifton surprised most of the room when he got a nine, but her and Talon both expected as much. She had watched the man fight and heard him talk to Talon. After River and Talon, he was the last person that she was worried about. He seemed kind, but she didn't trust it.

Ciera Ocussia received a six, and District Twelve lived up to expectations with Denver Lyon earning a four and Sparrow Kalani a three. They showed the scores one more time, and then the television flicked off, and everyone began to filter out of the apartment. Nikola gave a dry joke and promised he'd be back tomorrow an hour before they left for interviews. Maya left with a few high-fives as she predicted what kind of meltdown her district partner would be in the midst of back on their floor. Finally the escorts and mentors all filed out with them, until it was just Talon, her, and Dashiel, who was still standing in the corner of the room, hand on his heart as his breathing slowly began to steady.

Lana placed a hand on her own heart, mimicking the movement as she closed her eyes and held in a deep breath. She felt her hands continuing to shake and dug her nails into her palms, digging deeper until they were finally still, and she felt calm. When she opened her eyes, Talon was looking at her, something halfway between concern and confusion.

"Two more days," he said simply, voice betraying no hint of emotion.

"Two more days," she echoed.

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**A/N: And there we have the scores! Scores have been updated on the tribute page of my blog, and the fourth nightly recap is also up. I hope y'all enjoyed getting to see Lana again, next chapter we'll be with Ty and Ciera as we go through the interviews!**

**Trivia(1 point): Whose score was most surprising to you?**


End file.
